


Agony and Hope

by Eienvine



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, based on Jane Austen's Persuasion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2020-11-22 13:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20874992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eienvine/pseuds/Eienvine
Summary: Eight years ago, Loki Odinson broke off his engagement to Sif Tyrsdottir, having been persuaded by his family that a poor sailor was beneath the son of an earl. Now Captain Tyrsdottir is back in his life, wealthy and eligible and clearly determined to ignore the man who broke her heart. Can two heartbroken people find their way back to each other after so much time has passed?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Mostly) based on Jane Austen's Persuasion; if you have not read the book or seen the movie, you should really get on that before this story spoils the ending for you. Because it is, in my humble opinion, the best Austen novel. And that's saying something.
> 
> This story owes a great debt to newredshoes' [Sif & Sensibility](https://archiveofourown.org/works/246793), which is one of the stories that got me hooked on Sifki, and which is where I got the idea for the setting of this story: somewhere halfway between Regency England and Asgard. If you haven't read it yet, check it out: it is a classic.
> 
> I have through chapter 16 written already; I'm planning to post at least once, maybe twice a week, so although this is a long story, you shouldn't have to wait terribly long for it.

. . . . . .

It was Lady Frigga who first suggested the family decamp to Fólkvangr, thereby indirectly admitting to her sons just how dire their situation had become. The countess had been devoted to Gladsheim since she first stepped into its hallowed halls as a new bride thirty years previous, and only the most grave of circumstances would induce her to give it up, even temporarily.

“And we shall quite enjoy Fólkvangr, I think,” said she, endeavoring to approach the impending move optimistically, and turning a cheerful smile on her younger son, the Honorable Mr. Loki Odinson. “You enjoyed it when you were at university there, did you not, Loki?”

Were anyone but his beloved mother asking the question, Loki would have had no qualms about airing his true opinion of the city. But for Frigga’s sake, he mustered a smile and deflected the question. “What think you of this move?” he asked his father, the earl.

Lord Odin Borrson, earl of Ringsfjord, heaved a great sigh. In the six months since scandal had struck the family, he seemed to have aged a decade, and even Loki found himself a little worried about the man he had been raised to call “Father.” “Your mother thinks it the only way,” he says, “and I have learned when to concede arguments to her.”

“Come,” said Frigga, “do try to see the bright side. There shall be balls and plays and entertainments every night, and ever so many people to see.”

“And we may appear important in Fólkvangr for relatively little money,” Loki muttered under his breath.

Frigga frowned at him, then relented. “Yes, Loki, that is one reason for this decision.”

Loki did not bother pointing out the obvious: they could stay at Gladsheim, their beautiful country estate, if only Odin would agree to retrench, and practice economy in their finances. But Odin could never bear to be seen living below the lifestyle he thought appropriate for an earl; it had been the topic of a number of arguments over the last six months. And so, with their coffers nearly empty, the family would have to remove to Fólkvangr, where the expenses required to keep up a townhome would be far less than those required to maintain their massive estate.

“What think you of all this, Thor?” Odin asked his heir and firstborn son, the future earl of Ringsfjord and current Viscount Mjolnir.

“Yes, by all means, let us go to Fólkvangr,” said Thor with a sigh, though Loki knew his adopted brother cared far more for getting out of Ringsfjord than he did for visiting Fólkvangr. He had recently suffered a broken engagement, and was keen to vacate the neighborhood and find a place where people did not know of his disappointment. (It should be noted, before the reader imagines Thor to be a tragic, heartbroken figure, that he was embarrassed, not saddened, at the ending of his engagement. He’d proposed to Brunnhilde Valkyrie simply because Odin had hinted long and hard at how advantageous a connexion to the Valkyrie family would be, and because Thor was nothing if not dutiful. Personally, Loki’d had no love for his future sister-in-law, and had been quite pleased when she’d broken the engagement after scandal made the house of Odin an undesirable connexion.)

“And you, Loki?” Frigga turned to her younger son.

“It seems the decision has been made,” said Loki, biting his tongue against yet another argument that if only the family would live with just a modicum of economy --

“Oh,” interjected Thor suddenly, “but you can’t go to Fólkvangr right away, Loki. I received a letter from Fandral this morning, begging the both of us to come visit. I would rather leave Ringsfjord for a while, but you ought to go. Fandral has been such a good friend to you, and anyway, it isn’t as though you’ll be terribly eager to be in Fólkvangr; you hate social engagements. So I’ve written back to Fandral to tell him you’ll come.”

It took three long, careful breaths to control Loki’s irritation at the careless, high-handed way his brother acted in his stead. But he had learned long ago that it was useless to be angry at Thor, who was not malicious, just cheerfully thoughtless, and who never seemed to notice or care when others were displeased with him anyway. “Apparently I am to go to Thryheim, then,” he said finally.

“Let us begin packing,” Frigga said. “And Loki, you and I shall check all the wards on the estate before we leave; I think a few need to be recast. We must make haste, for Mr. Hœnir has already found someone to lease Gladsheim, and he intends to take possession by Midsummer’s Day.” She reached over to take Loki’s hand and press it reassuringly; he allowed it only because it was Frigga. “And this tenant has agreed to terms that are really quite generous to us. I have high hopes that after only a year of his leasing Gladsheim, we shall have saved enough money that we may return home.”

“And who is this undeserving person who shall be taking possession of my ancestral home?” Odin grumbled.

“He is apparently quite the war hero,” came his lady’s reply. “So perhaps he is not quite so undeserving after all. And apparently he has some connexion to the area, although I know not what. His name is Heimdall . . . oh, I forget his family name.”

The name struck Loki like a swing from a hammer. “Heimdall Tyrson?” he repeated, suddenly scarcely able to catch his breath. “Admiral Heimdall Tyrson? Of the Royal Navy?”

“The very one.” Frigga frowned. “Dearest, are you all right?”

Conscious only of the need to leave the room with his dignity intact, Loki broke one of his cardinal rules, and lied to his mother: “Only thinking of all I must do to prepare to withdraw to Fólkvangr. If you’ll excuse me.”

He waited for the earl to nod, then left the room on trembling legs.

. . . . . .

It took half an hour for Frigga to follow him to his rooms; perhaps she had to answer more questions from Thor and Odin before she could leave. So Loki was quite composed by the time she arrived; none of his earlier distress was visible on his face as he went through his desk, deciding what should be brought with him, what should be put into storage, and what should be thrown away.

But he had never been able to fool Frigga.

“What is it, dearest?” she asked, seating herself on the settee. “You looked quite overset for a moment there.”

“You needn’t worry, Mother,” he said. “I am quite well now. It is simply a great deal of change to take in all at once.”

Worry furrowed her brow. “But you do like Fólkvangr, do you not? After four years of university there? I thought you, at least, would be happy about all this.”

He was not happy. After all, how could he enjoy the place he associated with two very unhappy times in his life? His mother was not aware of all this, however; Frigga might have been his closest confidante, but there were parts of his heart and mind that even she was not privy to.

And he had no interest in acquainting her with all the sordid details now. So he settled for a few of the sordid details: “When I fled, after . . . I learned about my past.” He gestured vaguely at himself, knowing that his mother would understand, that she would see past the enchantment that made him appear Aesir and remember how devastated he’d been to learn, four years ago, that he was in fact Jotun by birth. “I spent much of that time in Fólkvangr, staying with old university friends.”

“Ah,” came her quiet reply. “So you associate the city with a trying time in your life.”

“Precisely.”

Her brow was furrowed, and she looked as though she would comfort him. So he crossed the room and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “It’s all right, Mother. I only meant to explain why I am not as pleased as you would like at the prospect of returning to Fólkvangr.”

“I am sorry, my dear,” said she. “But I’m afraid Fólkvangr it must be. Your father would never agree to go somewhere that wasn’t a large city, and Valhalla would be . . .”

“Less accepting,” finished Loki, taking the armchair beside her. _ “Eldr_,” he whispered, and fire leapt to life in the fireplace before them. “Fólkvangr is a little more tolerant of . . . unusual residents.”

“Such as disgraced earls,” agreed Frigga. Loki sighed, and she reassured him, “This will pass. Some new scandal will appear and this one will be quite forgotten; public opinion will soften and your father will rebuild his relationships with his business partners and we will get our finances back in order.”

“Or he could stop relying on speculation to keep our coffers full. If he just invested what money he does have in the five percents -- ”

“I know,” came his mother’s sigh. “But I have been married to the man for thirty years, and I have learned there are certain things about him that will not change.”

Loki had been raised by the earl for twenty-seven years, and he knew his mother was right. So he sighed. “So to Fólkvangr we shall go, until all of Asgard forgets that the earl of Ringsfjord sired an illegitimate daughter who made it her life’s work to air all his darkest secrets and destroy his good name.”

Frigga looked pained a moment, and Loki regretted his flippant words. But her smile soon returned. “Precisely.” And she folded her hands in her lap and fixed him with a steady look. “Now, darling, what was the other thing?”

It was an easy thing to feign ignorance, to show absolute confusion on his face. “What other thing?”

But it was an easier thing for his mother to read the truth behind his mask. “You were upset downstairs. The name Heimdall gave you grief. Why is that, dearest? Who is Heimdall to you?”

This was a subject Loki would prefer never to broach with anyone . . . but this was Frigga, his beloved mother, sometimes his only ally. So he forced himself to answer, his casual tone a desperate attempt to maintain some dignity. “You remember our old curate, Tyr Hymirson? Heimdall is his son from his first marriage.”

Frigga seemed immediately to understand all that Loki was not saying. “Ah,” she said quietly, turning her head to look out the window. Loki knew, without following her gaze, what she was looking at: the country lane, the little parish church on the other side, the vicarage behind it: a place where he spent so many carefree childhood days playing with his brother and his best friend. “So he is the half-brother of . . .”

“He sponsored her in the Navy,” Loki confirmed, his voice quiet. “They have always been close, despite the age difference.”

“I see.”

They sat in silence a long moment, Loki staring at the fire, Frigga gazing at the vicarage as though she could still see the little girl who once lived there. And as the silence stretched on, Loki found himself feeling brave -- brave enough to broach a subject on which he had kept silent for eight years.

“I know we have never spoken of this,” he began.

Frigga’s eyelids fluttered closed, as though preparing herself for what was coming. “I did what I thought was best.”

But Loki would not be deterred. The box in his heart where he kept his most secret thoughts and feelings hidden had been broken open by the mention of Heimdall’s name, and for once, he thought there might be more comfort in airing his feelings than in hiding them.

“I know your reasons,” he said quietly, his gaze still fixed on the fire. “I do not blame you, and I do not blame myself for having been persuaded by you. I know the disparity in our stations and the uncertainty of her profession. But still . . . I am convinced that we would have been happy.”

Frigga leaned forward. “You were but nineteen, Loki,” said she. “Nineteen, to be throwing yourself away on someone who could be killed by Jotuns at any moment. I did not want that pain for you, my son.”

“I am not certain the pain of the last eight years has not been worse,” he said quietly. And then, embarrassed by the raw honesty of that statement, he hurriedly and sharply added, “And surely that was not your only reason. You were not as obvious about it as Odin, but I know you agreed with him that the daughter of a curate was beneath the son of an earl.”

Frigga did not react, but he could read her nearly as well as she could read him, and the tension in her jaw spoke of guilt and discomfort.

Still, he could not help himself, and he gave a mirthless laugh. “And the sad conclusion of the story: she was right, when she said the navy would be the making of her. She made her fortune in the war, ten times over. She is now worth much more than the spendthrift earl of Ringsfjord.”

“If she’d truly loved you, surely she would have reached out again.”

“After the way she was treated in this house, I doubt it,” muttered Loki.

So Frigga tried a new line of reassurance. “You are young,” she insisted. “You will find love again.”

And that was the most absurd thing that had been uttered so far. “Mother,” he exclaimed, exasperated, “I’m the adopted Jotun son of a penniless earl who’s currently the laughingstock of Asgard.”

And for a moment Frigga’s facade of calm wavered; her serene determination to see the best in their situation could not stand in the face of so much cynicism from her son. Immediately Loki was contrite. “I am sorry, Mother,” he said, and took her hand in his. “We shall find a way through this.”

Frigga gratefully pressed his hand. “My dear boy,” said she. “What a comfort you are to your mother. Do hurry and join us in Fólkvangr soon. We shall miss you terribly.”

“I shall,” agreed Loki. For he did not know whether Heimdall would invite his half-sister to stay with him at Gladsheim, but if he did, Loki had no desire to be in the neighborhood when Sif Tyrsdottir returned.

. . . . . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to all those who've read and commented so far!

. . . . . .

The following two weeks were entirely taken up with preparations: trunks were packed for the family, and all personal items not accompanying them were put into storage in one of the attics. The house was cleaned thoroughly. The servants were divided into two groups: those who would accompany the family to Fólkvangr, and those who would stay behind to serve the new tenant. The armory, which was filled with expensive and rare magical items that had been collected by Loki’s grandfather, was tightly locked up, and Loki and Frigga together recast the defensive spell that allowed only members of the immediate family to enter the room. Admiral Heimdall Tyrson was known as an honorable man, but Odin would take no chances with so dangerous and expensive a collection.

Finally the family took their leave of Gladsheim: -- the earl, the countess, and Thor taking the coach toward Fólkvangr, and Loki taking a gig to Thryheim. Frigga and Loki parted with sincere embraces and sorrow; Odin clapped his adopted son on the shoulder and said sadly, “Ringsfjord without the earl of Ringsfjord in residence! I can scarcely believe it! You must comfort our neighbors, Loki.”

(Loki privately thought that the neighborhood had always carried on well enough when the earl disappeared to Valhalla for months at a time for the social season, but he held his tongue.)

Thor seemed genuinely sorrowful to be parted from his brother, and embraced him a long time; as usual, Loki found his affection to be gratifying but a bit excessive. “Join us soon, brother,” he bade, then climbed into the carriage. The conveyance rolled away, and Loki took the reins in his hands to follow them down the driveway. At the great gate on the edge of property, he stopped and watched Frigga step down from the carriage and perform the spell that would leave Heimdall in control of all the wards and estate enchantments. It was truly happening: Loki was leaving Gladsheim, and he didn’t know when he would return.

It was a surprisingly liberating feeling.

. . . . . .

The estate of Thryheim lay just three miles from Gladsheim; this made them the earl’s nearest neighbors (other than, of course, the occupants of the vicarage on the Gladsheim grounds). The person fortunate enough to call the beauties of Thryheim his own was Bjørn, a kind-hearted but untitled gentleman. His beautiful home he shared with his only son, Volstagg, his daughter-in-law, Hildegund, and an unruly mob of grandchildren.

Two others resided at Thryheim: Hildegund’s younger brother, Haldor, had come to Thryheim after the deaths of their parents, feeling not yet ready to occupy and run the family estate by himself; Bjørn’s hospitality had convinced him never to leave. And the cottage near the great house was occupied by Fandral, Bjørn’s nephew, whose own estate was in such dismal repair as to be uninhabitable. Bjørn had kindly offered him use of the cottage on extremely generous terms, and Fandral had quickly endeared himself to the family and the neighborhood with his easy, charming manners. He was especially close to his cousin Volstagg, the pair having bonded when they served together in the army, and also counted Thor and Loki among his particular friends.

It was the familiar road to this cottage at Thryheim that Loki drove. All the house of Odin were frequent guests at Thryheim, and the Odinson brothers had spent many a week at Fandral’s cottage, riding and shooting together. If the truth were told, Loki had long wondered if Fandral tolerated his company only for Thor’s sake; nearly everyone they met preferred the older Odinson over the younger. So it was gratifying to see the genuine pleasure on Fandral’s face when his friend greeted him at the door of the cottage.

And it was equally gratifying to see the same pleasure on the rest of the family’s faces that night, when the young men were summoned to dinner at the great house. Loki knew his unwillingness to suffer fools did not always win him friends, but the family at Thryheim had known him for so long that they could ignore some of his personality quirks and genuinely value him for his conversation and his wit. (And there was comfort in the knowledge that the house of Odin had true friends: people who did not abandon them when the scandal broke.)

As always, Volstagg’s children rushed to surround him and ask him for magic; their mother Hildegund was the only magician in the house -- and a lucky thing it was that the estate had her, or they would have had to pay for someone to maintain their wards -- but her skill was limited, and tended toward domestic charms. Loki had the distinction of being the only resident of the neighborhood to have specialized in magic at university, which put him in high demand among the children, who enjoyed his illusions and transfigurations. Being at ease among children was not among Loki’s personal gifts, but as he did enjoy being admired and praised, he tolerated his young companions’ enthusiasm. 

Dinner was, as always, a happy, noisy affair, far less formal than the dignified meals insisted upon by Lord Odin Borrson, the ever-dignified earl of Ringsfjord. Volstagg was welcoming and friendly, Hildegund nurturing and loving, and Bjørn amusing and good-natured. The disorder could be a bit much for Loki, so unaccustomed to it was he, but the general feeling that permeated the gathering was pleasing, and he idly supposed that if he had his own household . . . well, never mind. There was no reason to ponder too deeply on a future he would not have.

The only member of the company Loki did not know well was Haldor, Hildegund’s younger brother, who had only come to the neighborhood a year ago, and who Loki had never been inclined to befriend. He was a strapping young man, with an athletic build -- a soldier’s build, although he had no interest in joining the military. He was blond and blue-eyed and very handsome, or so Loki gathered from the hopeful young ladies who were always giggling at him at balls and assemblies. And he had his own estate, which was his for the taking as soon as he decided to grow up and stop clinging to his older sister’s skirts like a helpless child. Loki’s distaste for Haldor was not logical, for he also still lived in his parents’ home. But logic had never stopped him from being judgmental before, and it wasn’t going to stop him from looking down on Haldor now.

“Haldor!” Fandral exclaimed over port after the meal was finished. “Shall you join us for fishing tomorrow?”

And Loki bit back a sigh.

. . . . . .

“I hope that wasn’t too much of a burden,” Fandral laughed the next day as the two men returned to the cottage, their tackle and gear being carried by two servants who trailed behind them.

“A burden?” Loki repeated, aware from Fandral’s grin that he was walking into a trap but unable to ascertain what that trap might be.

“To spend the day with Haldor,” laughed his companion. “I saw your face last night when I invited him.”

“I simply do not know him well,” lied Loki. Insulting Haldor gave him no pause, but he did not want Fandral to think less of him; with so few friends, he could scarce afford to lose one.

“Come now,” laughed Fandral, “you do not dissemble so well as you think. What irks you about him? That he is young? That he is dashing? That he is popular with all the ladies?”

Loki tried to demur, but Fandral pursued the topic all the way back to the cottage, until finally his house guest relented. “It is that he has his own estate, in good repair, waiting for its master to return and manage it, but he prefers to stay here and allow his sister to coddle him. It is not becoming of an adult. A landed gentleman, no less.”

“Does that statement not paint us with the same brush?” Fandral pointed out.

“You have a reason to be here,” Loki argued. “You are working on putting your estate to rights.”

“And you?”

In the moments that followed, Loki quickly calculated whether it would be more embarrassing to allow Fandral to think that he was tied to his mother’s apron strings, or to admit the truth. “I am subject to my father’s whims,” he explained finally. “Neither Thor nor I will receive any money to live on -- besides a bit for clothes and other expenses -- until we enter the matrimonial state with a bride who meets the earl’s exacting standards.” And since Loki couldn’t imagine saddling any woman with a Jotun mate, it seemed quite likely that he would remain unwed, and therefore financially dependent on his parents, for the foreseeable future. But obviously he couldn’t admit such a thing to Fandral, so he said simply, “And since no such prize bride has appeared, I remain dependent on my father and tied to his household.”

“You could seek employment,” Fandral pointed out. “Aren’t you always boasting about your time at the University of Fólkvangr? Surely there are positions for a university-educated magician.”

“I do not boast,” said Loki, all wounded dignity, “and my venerated father, the earl of Ringsfjord, would surely die of shame if one of his sons lowered himself to seek employment.”

Both Loki’s dry humor and Lord Odin’s fixation on rank were sufficiently well known to Fandral that he did not take offense at the notion that he, as a former soldier, had shamed himself by seeking employment. “Perhaps it’s time to let your father die of shame,” said he. “Or you shall never escape Gladsheim.”

Loki heaved a sigh. “Norns, what a thought.”

. . . . . .

Two happy weeks passed by. The denizens of Thryheim and their houseguest amused themselves in riding and shooting and fishing and picnics. Loki spent his days with Fandral and Volstagg and Bjørn and Hildegund, and learned to tolerate Haldor. The young men at the cottage were invited to dine at the great house nearly every evening, and there was music and games and, on the occasions that Hildegund allowed the children to stay up with the adults, magic.

Loki found himself quite happy at Thryheim; the embarrassment of his family situation, the anxiety he felt at knowing Heimdall resided at Gladsheim, the pain and rejection that had long been his companions, all seemed to dissolve in the bright Asgardian sunshine.

Until came the day that Volstagg had news at dinner. “I’ve been out riding today,” said he, “and you’ll never guess who I saw.”

“Who, dear?” asked Hildegund.

“An old neighbor of ours!” Volstagg declared. “Do you remember Sif, the old curate’s daughter?”

No reaction flickered across Loki’s face, but his hand wrapped a little tighter around the stem of his glass.

“Oh yes, what a lovely girl! Went into the Royal Navy, did she not?”

“She did! But now she has returned to Asgard on a long shore leave, ever so grown up and elegant. She’s here staying with her half-brother, Heimdall Tyrson, who is leasing Gladsheim. You’ll not have met her, Haldor and Fandral; she went to sea before you came to the neighborhood.”

“Delightful!” cried Bjørn. “You must invite her to dine, son.”

“Already done,” Volstagg declared. “Captain Tyrsdottir shall dine with us Thursday next.”

No one thought to look at Loki. So no one saw the way he could not quite lift his eyes from the table.

. . . . . .


	3. Chapter 3

. . . . . .

_ This does not matter _ became the constant litany in Loki’s mind for the next few days. Dinner with a former acquaintance was, he sternly told himself, no reason to become overset. At least he found some comfort in the fact that no one at Thryheim seemed aware that Loki and Sif had ever been anything but neighbors, a result of the fact that their engagement had come on quite suddenly and lasted only a day. It was a relief to be spared the sympathy and the knowing looks and the teazing.

_ This does not matter. _It had been eight years; surely everything had changed. Surely Sif had no interest in him renewing his addresses; surely for the Jotun son of a shamed and impoverished earl to pay said addresses to a young lady of fortune and valor was absurd.

And yet that did not stop him from spending an extra half-hour dressing on Thursday evening. He knew eight years had changed him; he knew the stress of the last six months had added faint worry lines around his eyes. But if there was one social grace Loki Odinson always had on his side, it was superb taste in clothing.

So he dressed with exquisite care, and then he sat before his looking glass for far longer than was his wont, unable to do anything to improve the face he saw looking back at him, but unable to be satisfied either.

In the end, it did not matter. In the end, there was a prickle at the back of Loki’s neck, and then a change in the air, something he struggled to identify. Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

“Loki,” cried Hildegund, relieved, when the manservant had summoned him to the front door, “we have an emergency. My Erik took the barouche out to practice driving -- without permission, I need hardly add -- and crashed it into one of the boundary stones. Toppled it right over.”

That explained the shift in the atmosphere. “The ward has fallen,” he guessed.

“The main ward,” Hildegund confirmed. “Over the whole estate. Tenant farms too. I hate to impose on you like this, but I also hate to leave us unprotected all night.”

Loki understood. It had been nearly a decade since Jotuns last invaded Asgardian shores, but that terrible event -- and the resulting loss of life -- loomed large in the memories of those who lived through it. Since that invasion, it had become the settled habit of every home, business, school and church to keep defensive wards active around their property; those who did not have magician in the family or on the staff paid professional magicians to have the wards erected and maintained.

Though the likelihood of another invasion happening tonight, of all nights, was impossibly slim, Loki understood the lady’s impulse to protect her family and her tenants. And yet . . .

“You do not feel equal to re-erecting the ward? I have seen your defensive charms, madam, and they are quite impeccable.”

“I thank you for the compliment, but I am not anything like so skilled as you; it would take me until dawn. And also, though this is a more selfish reason, I have so been looking forward to meeting Captain Tyrsdottir; I have so long been thrilled by stories of our female sailors and soldiers, but I have never had a chance to meet one.”

Loki was silent a long moment. And then he sighed. “Of course I can see to the ward. Give my regrets to your father-in-law and Captain Tyrsdottir.”

And so, while Fandral finished dressing in his finest and went to the great house to meet the elegant and valiant Captain Tyrsdottir, Loki changed into simpler clothing and loaded up Fandral’s gig with the necessary herbs and candles and the cottage’s only footman, and made his way to the fallen boundary stone.

Together the men put the stone to rights, while Loki tried not to think of Sif back in the great house. He cast the binding on the stone, while he tried not to imagine what she looked like after eight years. He climbed back in the cart to drive to the next stone, while he tried not to wonder what she thought of his sudden absence from dinner. He cast the binding on second stone, while he tried not to imagine Fandral and Haldor attempting to charm her and flirt with her.

And then he sighed. Only five miles and sixty-two stones to go.

. . . . . .

And so it was that Loki’s first meeting with Sif, eight years after he broke their engagement and her heart, came not in a dining room, where he could prepare himself emotionally and mentally and sartorially, and sparkle with wit and confidence, and impress on her how very, very fine he was with everything that had happened between them, but at the breakfast table the next morning, when he was dressed in a simple banyan with his hair mussed, blinking blearily at his toast because he had not returned from his spellcasting until after two o’clock and he was exhausted.

There was a rustle out in the hall, and Loki lifted his eyes just in time to see the face that had haunted him for the past eight years come into view.

He dropped his toast.

Captain Sif Tyrsdottir had only improved with age: her features had sharpened, losing the last vestiges of childish softness that had lingered when last he saw her. She was daringly dressed in breeches, waistcoat and jacket tailored to her figure; he had heard of women soldiers and sailors adopting such fashions when out of uniform, but had never yet seen it himself. Her boots were polished to a high gleam, and her long dark hair was pulled softly back, with the ends trailing over her shoulder.

She was, in short, the most stunning creature he’d ever seen.

Their eyes met, briefly.

“Captain Tyrsdottir!” Fandral exclaimed, standing from the breakfast table. “So punctual! I am ready whenever you are.” He turned to Loki. “We had planned last night to go out riding today; I thought of waking you early so you could join us, but we worried you would be too fatigued after being out half the night spellcasting. Next time, aye?”

He swept from the room. Sif looked back at Loki, gave him a brief, impersonal nod, and then vanished as well.

It was only when he heard the front door shut behind them that Loki allowed his fork to fall from his clenched hand. The clatter of the cutlery against the plate was as loud as a gunshot.

When Fandral returned four hours later, it was to announce that Captain Tyrsdottir had returned to her brother after their ride, but had invited them all to dine at Gladsheim on the Monday following.

“Did you enjoy your ride?” asked Loki, for whom the four hours had hardly been enough time to collect himself.

“Oh, it was capital! I have never seen a better seat on a rider; she puts us all to shame. And she had ever so many fascinating stories. The places she has been! And if half the stories she tells us are true, she’s sent more Jotuns down to watery graves than the rest of the navy combined!”

Jotuns like Loki’s biological family, whoever they were. The thought lowered his defenses, so Fandral’s next comment, given off-handedly and distractedly as he poured himself a cup of tea, struck a fatal blow to Loki’s confidence: “She was not very gallant toward you, though. Volstagg asked what she thought of you, and she said you were so altered that she would hardly have known you.” He glanced over at Loki. “I had not realized you were acquainted.”

It took a moment for Loki to answer, for he was suddenly worlds away in his mind. “Her father was the curate at the Gladsheim parish,” he finally remembered to answer. “We knew each other as children.”

“Ah,” said Fandral, already distracted by the biscuits that had been sent up with tea.

Loki could not help the slow slump of his shoulders.

. . . . . .

They met next at Gladsheim, when Heimdall and his half-sister hosted the whole Thryheim party for dinner. Admiral Tyrson approached Loki in the drawing room before they went through to dinner, and Loki had the unfamiliar experience of having to tilt his head up to meet his companion’s eyes; Loki was considered tall among men, but Heimdall had the stature and bearing of a giant. Unlike a giant, though, he carried warmth and sympathy in his surprising golden eyes. “This must be very difficult for you,” he observed. “To come to your home and find a stranger here.”

Quite difficult, in fact. But Loki was unwilling to admit such a fact aloud, so he answered instead, “We are not quite strangers, though. I believe we met once or twice when I was a child, when you came to visit your father.”

Those strange eyes took on a knowing, amused look. “Yes, I recall; I simply wasn’t sure if you would. But I remember you very well indeed, young man.”

The conversation left Loki slightly uneasy as he suddenly worried how much Heimdall might be aware of Loki’s history with Sif. Avoiding the topic and changing the subject seemed the wisest option. “How is your father? I have not seen him in . . . oh, these seven years.”

Though amusement danced at the edges of his expression, Heimdall allowed the topic change. “Very well indeed. He and my stepmother are enjoying Gymirsgard.”

“We miss him very much; the new curate isn’t half so eloquent a speaker as your father. But I do understand why he would leave; after so many years as a curate, a living of his own was surely an irresistible opportunity. We were all quite happy for him, even as we mourned his loss.”

“Indeed,” agreed Heimdall. “Difficult, though, for my sister, for when she returned on shore leave, visiting home meant going to a place where she knew her parents but no one else.”

“Indeed,” murmured Loki, feeling very much a selfish, miserable creature. He had been glad, at first, when Tyr and Gná had moved away to Gymirsgard, for he would not have to face Sif and remember what he had done to hurt her. He had selfishly not thought at all about how it would be for her, to lose her childhood home and everything familiar just as she went off to make her way in the world.

Across the room, as though aware she was being discussed, Sif glanced up at them. She had dressed more conventionally this evening, in a stunning dress of a gleaming gunmetal gray, with her hair curled atop her head in the usual manner of elegant ladies.

“But she seems to have gotten past her unhappiness, hasn’t she?” Heimdall smiled down at Loki, who could do nothing but agree.

“She certainly seems to have done so.”

It was strange indeed to dine in the Gladsheim dining room without his parents or brother. And it was strange indeed to have such boisterous conversation in the Gladsheim dining room, where the earl had always insisted on decorum and formality. Loki kept up well with the witty conversation flying back and forth across his end of the table, his ability to hold up his end of the conversation largely due to the fact that Sif was at the other end of the table, so far away that their gazes never caught and tripped up his tongue.

Soon enough the talk turned to the navy. Heimdall, a few seats from Loki, told a story of a battle on the _ HMS Gulltopp_, when his men held off three Jotun vessels, all armed to the teeth with cannons and filled with Jotuns ready to board the ship and take no prisoners. “I owe my life to the ship’s magician,” he declared.

“Ship’s magician?” repeated Haldor.

“Yes, the most fortunate ships have a powerful magician on the crew. Enormously helpful.”

This statement seemed not quite to convince Haldor, until Sif confirmed, “I’ve had my life saved by a naval magician on more than one occasion.”

That convinced the young man, who seemed very eager to believe anything Sif might tell him. Indeed, the attention he paid her made Loki slightly uneasy.

Sif then spoke of her navy career, how she’d started as a lieutenant on a tiny ship called the _ HMS Starjammer_, barely more than a skiff, without guns enough to protect itself. “We ran supplies,” she explained, “and as the Navy’s lack of foresight as regards cannons meant we couldn’t defend ourselves, we had to be certain to be the fastest ship on the waters. We could make the Asgard-Nornheim route in three days.”

“How thrilling, to find yourself in such danger!” Haldor declared.

The smile she gave him made Loki slightly more uneasy.

“You were fortunate indeed to be assigned a position on a ship so quickly after enlisting,” Heimdall observed. “Even on a ship as tiny as the _ Starjammer_.”

“Believe me, I felt it,” was Sif’s reply. “I badly wanted to be out of Asgard that summer. I needed very much to be . . . occupied, then.”

“When was this?” asked Bjørn.

“Eight years ago.”

The food in Loki’s mouth suddenly tasted like ash.

“I sympathize,” said Heimdall, and his gaze shifted to Loki so briefly that Loki was not certain that he didn’t imagine it. “When you are ready for adventure, when you are ready to serve Asgard, it would be a hard thing to be trapped on shore, waiting for a ship assignment. And why shouldn’t you have been ready for adventure back then? You had no responsibilities here, no family, no husband.”

“You’re quite right,” agreed Sif, and there was something Loki couldn’t read in her expression. “I had no husband eight years ago.” And she sent a look down the table at Loki, so sharp that he felt momentarily pinned in place by it.

Then suddenly she was laughing again. “Because how could I have afforded a family back then?” she chuckles. “I was a poor sailor. What right had I to marital bliss? I could barely manage to buy my uniform.” The rest of the table laughed, but there was an undercurrent to her tone that cut Loki like a knife.

“Oh, come,” laughed Heimdall, “you’ll teach your friends to think your brother was not looking out for you back then.”

But Loki barely heard it, or the comments that followed, so full was his mind with the words Sif had just uttered. And he finally understood that the tiny hope he had nursed in his heart was entirely without basis or merit.

Sif had not forgiven him. And she would not forgive him.

Loki found he had quite lost his appetite.

. . . . . .


	4. Chapter 4

. . . . . .

The family at Thryheim had many opportunities to see Captain Tyrsdottir over the next few weeks; a friendship immediately grew up between her, Volstagg and Fandral, aided by their shared love of outdoor recreation and their shared experiences in the military. Hildegund was pleased to have another lady so nearby, and although the pair had almost nothing in common, she never grew tired of hearing Sif’s stories about her time in the military.

And then there was Haldor; to say he was a source of great irritation and anxiety for Loki would be an understatement. The young man was clearly quite attached to Sif, despite her being four years his elder. That fact alone was not alarming -- surely many young men who met Captain Tyrsdottir were immediately taken with her -- but its counterpart was: Sif seemed to be paying increasing attention to Haldor.

Loki knew well that he had absolutely no right to dictate in what manner Sif was to be happy; any stake he’d once had in her life had been quite undeniably relinquished when he allowed the earl to persuade him that the engagement must be broken off. But still, he had little interest in watching the woman he’d never stopped loving form an attachment to another man. And so unworthy a man as Haldor! Flighty, irresponsible, nothing but his own pleasures and comforts in his head . . .

The pain he felt at viewing the growing attachment only grew as Sif continued to scarcely acknowledge that they had ever been friends, let alone that they had been more. In the few weeks leading up to their engagement, and the blissful twenty-four hours that followed it, Loki had thought there could be no two hearts as close as theirs, no two people more unified. Now she scarcely gave him more than the perfunctory attention required to avoid rudeness.

He had truly lost her.

. . . . . .

An outing was proposed on a fine bright day; they were to go out walking together. It had originally been intended as a shooting party, but plans shifted, and instead the group walked out from Thryheim armed only with bonnets and boots.

Of late everything seemed to mark Haldor for Sif; nothing could be plainer, and when the path narrowed enough to require them to walk two by two -- and even sometimes when it did not -- they constantly sought out each other’s company. Loki often trailed behind the party, his position giving him an excellent view of every smile, every laugh, every casual touch that transpired between the couple, and it was all he could do to bite his tongue. When the party reached a stile along the path and Haldor extended a gallant hand to assist Sif over it, and the lady responded with a smile Loki had once been privileged to have for his own, the Honorable Mr. Odinson nearly turned back to Thryheim. A peculiar fear kept him in place, however: a fear that, should Haldor and Sif be left unwatched for any period of time, they would emerge engaged.

So concerned was he that he did not even allow a mild injury to keep him from carrying on. His unlucky foot found an animal hole, and while he was fortunate enough not to sprain his ankle, he did strain it somewhat; though the injury was not sufficient to prevent walking, he did find himself stepping more carefully than he had before. No one seemed to have noticed his mishap, to his relief, and he determined to press forward.

The rest that was proposed not long after was greatly appreciated. How it came about was this: Volstagg remarked that they had drawn very near to Harokin Hall, where lived a family who were distant relatives to the house of  Bjørn. The usual duties owed to the family -- namely, making polite conversation in their sitting room for a quarter of an hour -- were to be undertaken by Volstagg and Hildegund; on further consideration, Fandral determined to go as well, being himself also distantly related.

The walk from where they were to the house was not inconsiderable, however, and it was decided that Sif, Haldor and Loki, the three unbound by family ties to Harokin Hall, would stay where they were and enjoy the stunning views.

When the visiting party had withdrawn, Haldor proposed to show Sif a particularly lovely view from nearby. Left alone, Loki had no qualms about sitting on a convenient rock to rest his troublesome ankle, and he spent some time in quiet contemplation.

Now, atop the ridge where they now found themselves grew a long line of shrubbery, which was thick enough to impair any attempt to see through it but did nothing to cut down on the amount of sound which should cross it. And so it was that Loki suddenly heard voices nearby, and realized that Haldor and Sif had stopped to talk just on the other side of the shrubbery, clearly with no idea that he sat so nearby.

And as Loki’s personal moral code contained no edicts against eavesdropping, he settled in to listen.

“We have enjoyed having Loki here,” was the first sentence that reached his ears, this one spoken by Haldor. “He can be very amusing company, when he chuses to be, and he is awfully good at entertaining my nieces and nephews.” A pause. “When he chuses to be.”

“Does he stay long?” That was Sif’s voice.

“Only a few weeks longer. His family expects him to join them in Fólkvangr soon. You heard, I suppose, that the family has all decamped to Fólkvangr?”

“Of course,” Sif said. “That is how my brother came to be leasing Gladsheim. I must admit, though, I never heard all the details why. Only that some scandal has damaged the family name?”

“Ah,” said Haldor in a conspiratorial tone, and Loki could just imagine him leaning forward, a sly look on his dashing features. “Apparently, thirty years ago, Lord Borrson -- not yet the earl then, I suppose -- had a dalliance with a maid at Gladsheim. He set her and her unborn child up in a cottage in  Skornheim, with the intention of financially supporting the child, but only days later came the terrible house fire when the old earl was killed. Odin inherited the earlship, but also his father’s debts; it emerged that the estate is not as productive as is widely assumed, and old Borr was terrible at managing his finances -- always spending money on collecting magical trinkets and artifacts. It was all Odin could do to keep the estate afloat and pay for the repairs to the house. So he did not keep his promise to send more money to Skornheim, and he married the current countess not long after.”

“Little of that surprises me,” confessed Sif. “Given what I know the earl and his father. But that was thirty years ago! What is the scandal now?”

“The illegitimate daughter,” explained Haldor, whose tone indicated a certain relish for the sordid details. “Hela Angrboðasdottir, I believe. She grew up hating her father, who took advantage of her mother then abandoned them both in a distant corner of the kingdom. So she planned her revenge. When she came of age, she moved to Valhalla and collected every shameful fact and sordid tale of Odin’s life she could find. Then she published it all in a newspaper -- one of the less reputable ones, of course, but one with great reach, nonetheless.”

“Norns,” exclaimed Sif quietly. “What sorts of details did she publish?” 

“Business dealings of questionable legality, drunken misbehavior, the like. Very few were things that most gentlemen couldn’t be occasionally accused of, but to have it all in one place was quite damning. Not to mention, she was the biggest proof of his poor behavior. He’s not the first gentleman to leave the household staff in the family way, but he’s the first to have that behavior announced in a newspaper.”

“So the newspaper was widely read.”

“It was that day! I have no doubt their circulation went very high that week. The long and short of it is, the family are in disgrace, Thor’s fiancée cried off, and no one will do business with Odin. And since much of his income comes from speculations and other business dealings, their finances are also in shambles.”

“Ah,” came Sif’s soft reply, while Loki’s face burned at the thought of her having all the details of the family’s shame laid out so neatly before her. “So they have removed to  Fólkvangr, so they may live with less expense, while leasing Gladsheim to my brother, in the hopes that the rent money will enable them to get their finances back in order.”

“Tragic, isn’t it?” asked Haldor, his tone gleeful.

Sif’s reply, by contrast, evinced actual sympathy. “Poor Thor! Was he very much attached to her?”

Here Haldor stumbled somewhat. “I -- I know not.”

“He was a very dear friend of mine when we were children,” said Sif. “Loki too.”

It was the first time she’d admitted, in Loki’s presence, that they were anything but distance acquaintances.

There was a pause, then: -- “Yes, poor Thor and Loki!” said Haldor in a much altered tone.

“I shall have to find a time to call on Thor,” murmured Sif, “and lend my support.”

“Perhaps it is Loki who needs your support,” said Haldor, his voice once again conspiratorial.

“Loki? I have not the pleasure of understanding you.”

“Thor is always very popular with the fairer sex,” came the reply. “He will surely find love again. But Loki can scarcely be bothered to talk to any young lady! Any social event he comes to, he spends standing in a corner somewhere.”

Though true, the comment stung.

“He has never shown interest in a young lady?”

“From what I have seen and heard, he is as celibate as a monk. Even when wealthy young ladies are throwing themselves at him.”

There was a pause. “Do wealthy young ladies throw themselves at him?”

“Last year, just after I moved to the neighborhood, there was a young lady who came here to a house party at Thryheim. A friend of my sister’s, I believe. She was immediately taken with Loki and made it abundantly clear that she would welcome his suit. And her dowry of forty thousand uru would undoubtedly have saved the family from their current situation.”

Loki winced; apparently his hopes that the incident had largely been forgotten by the neighborhood were unfounded.

“But Loki did not pursue her?” asked Sif, with something in her tone that Loki could not read, desperately though he wanted to.

“He was as aloof as ever he is. The poor girl went home heartbroken.”

Though Loki waited with bated breath for Sif’s reply, he received only her thoughtful hum.

Haldor was not finished with his gossip. “ Some people thought that perhaps he thought too highly of himself, but Bjørn says it was most likely the earl’s doing. He said he has known Odin since they were both boys, and the earl has always had a very high opinion of his title, and would undoubtedly have objected to his son marrying a woman whose fortune was made in trade.”

Bjørn was right about Odin’s objections. What he’d apparently failed to understand, though, was that Odin’s objections had made no difference: Loki had never been inclined to pursue Ingrid Gormsdottir, tradesman’s daughter or no, for as lovely as she was, she was not Sif.

When Sif responded, her voice was tight: “Yes, I can well imagine Odin breaking up an attachment between one of his sons and a woman he thought beneath the family.” 

Loki winced.

“If I loved a woman,” declared Haldor, “nothing should ever separate us, not fortune or rank or family disapproval.” It was spoken with enthusiasm.

“Would you?” cried Sif, catching the same tone. “I honor you! I have great admiration for a man of action and decision, who is not easily persuaded by the opinions of others.”

Her following statement, declaring that she could spy the party returning from Harokin Hall, could not have come at a better time or brought more relief to the man who sat quietly nearby, feeling his fondest and most hidden hopes slipping away from him at every turn.

But a sliver of hope returned twenty minutes later. The group had reached the bottom of the hill and, in the lane, were surprised to encounter Heimdall taking a gig on a country drive. On seeing the party, and hearing what a great distance they had traversed that day, he offered his open seat to any who might be interested. “For it shall save you above a mile,” said he, “and I am passing near to Thryheim anyway.”

All were in the process of politely declining when Sif exclaimed, “Loki should take the seat; he hurt his ankle some time past.”

The expressions of surprise on the rest of the party’s faces were nothing to the surprise Loki felt; he was certain no one had noticed, and Sif had not seemed to pay him any attention all day.

“Come along, then!” exclaimed Heimdall, and there was nothing for it but to climb up into the gig. As it rumbled into motion, Loki could not help the quick glance he sent back toward the group. In a sharply cut jacket and breeches, Sif stood out from the rest of the party like a rose among weeds.

“My sister cuts quite a figure, does she not?” Heimdall asked unexpectedly.

“Indeed,” said Loki, when nothing more intelligent occurred to him.

“Perhaps she is on the hunt,” commented his companion. “I suspect she means to find a husband during this shore leave. Personally I never had much use for the matrimonial state, but I know that she has long hoped to find someone to share her life with. As long as she finds someone who doesn’t expect her to give up her naval career right away to keep his house and bear his children.”

“Ah,” responded Loki uselessly.

“Haldor would do well enough, I suppose,” mused Heimdall. “I think she could do better, but I know not how discerning she intends to be. I suspect that a few smiles, a few compliments to the navy, and she’ll be lost.”

This was not at all what Loki wished to hear. But he bore it stoically, because a single thought kept racing through his mind: Sif had noticed he was injured. And she had done something about it.

Despite the temptation to read a great deal into this, Loki remained pragmatic: he knew she could not still love him, that she could not forgive him. But neither could she remain unfeeling. Though still holding the past against him, still angry that he had allowed his father to persuade him their marriage could not occur, neither could she sit by and see him in pain without desiring to alleviate it. It was a sign of her own courageous and amiable heart -- a heart on which he could not think without the acutest pain.

Still, comfort remained in one undeniable fact: when he thought no one was aware of his injury, Sif noticed. And she took steps to relieve his pain.

The thought sustained him all the way back to Thryheim.

Sif had noticed him.

. . . . . .


	5. Chapter 5

. . . . . .

The end of Loki’s sojourn at Thryheim was fast approaching when the visit suddenly took a turn. It began two days following the outing where Loki turned his ankle, when all the party was gathered at the great house at Thryheim, and Sif had withdrawn a letter from her reticule and begun to read it by the fire.

“A pleasant letter, or so your expression would lead us to believe,” remarked Volstagg.

“A very pleasant letter. It is from my old friend Captain Hogun Vanir, inviting me to visit him in Tønsberg.”

“Tønsberg?” repeated Hildegund. “That is where the naval base is located, is it not?”

“Indeed, on the southern coast. The name is also borne by the town that has sprung up around the base; the inhabitants either provide services to the sailors or are in the navy themselves. Many sailors I know move their families to Tønsberg so that when they return to Asgard, they are as close to them as possible.”

“Will you go?” asked Haldor, with a hint of petulance in his tone.

“For Hogun, without question; it is only fifty miles, and I would travel much farther than fifty miles for him. We have had some great sport in the far corners of the world. Unfortunately, an injury keeps him currently laid up on land, but on sea there is no one more gallant. If you knew him, you would love him as I do.”

“Well,” said Volstagg, “why don’t we make a visit? Come with you?”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Hildegund. “I have long wished to see Tønsberg.”

And as Haldor and Fandral were wild to go as well, the decision was soon made: Bjørn would stay at Thryheim with his grandchildren, and the rest of the party would go to Tønsberg.

“And Loki must come as well,” declared Fandral, surprising Loki.

“Yes, let it be Loki’s treat,” agreed Volstagg. “Since he is to leave us soon.”

And so it was that Tønsberg soon found its population expanded by six visitors.

. . . . . .

Tønsberg was like nothing Loki anything had ever seen: vastly different from both the rolling green hills of Ringsfjord and the gleaming streets of Valhalla and Fólkvangr. Winding roads were packed with whitewashed houses, their doors gleaming every color of the rainbow. The smell of seawater and the sound of gulls were constantly in their ears. Haldor and Hildegund seemed to find the change a little alarming. Loki was rather pleased at such a drastic change in scenery.

They unpacked their things at their lodgings, a humble but clean inn by the seaside, and then went on foot to visit Hogun, just two streets over.

“We shall not meet only Hogun today,” Sif said as they walked. “Hogun’s mother lives with him and keeps house for him. And there is another resident: his half-sister Kelda Stormrider, who was my lieutenant on the _ Dragonfang _some years ago. After she served with me, she made captain and was given her own ship. She was devoted to a young man called William, and intended to marry him on her return from that first outing as captain; they had elected to wait until they were more financially secure. Unfortunately William died while she was yet at sea, and Kelda has never quite recovered. I think no woman could be so devoted to man as she was to him.”

So saying, she drew up to a turquoise-colored door and knocked.

The scene into which the party was drawn was very unlike the life Loki knew at Gladsheim, so warm and hospitable was it. Hogun was a compact man, not so tall as Loki or Volstagg, with the dark coloring and facial features that marked him as a descendant of Vanaheim (the source, no doubt, of his surname). Watchful reserve seemed his nature, but on the occasion of seeing his old friend, he became animated and welcoming. His Vanir blood came no doubt from his father, for his mother and half-sister were both clearly Asgardian through and through.

His mother was called Gunhild, and though not so refined and well-mannered as her son, in her boisterous welcome was true warmth and affection; clearly she desirous of befriending the party for no other reason that they were Sif’s friends. Her daughter Kelda looked nothing like her half-brother, with her silvery blonde hair and more substantial build. A slight sadness in her tone and mannerisms confirmed the account that Sif had given of her, but the visit of her dear friend and former commanding officer did a great deal to cheer her, and the three residents of the home talked in animated tones to Sif for some time.

Gunhild invited the party to stay for dinner, appearing genuinely grieved when Sif informed her they’d already ordered dinner at the inn, and brightening considerably when an invitation to walk by the seaside was extended. The residents of the home agreed readily to the scheme, and fetched their various hats and wraps, and soon a very merry party was walking along the beach.

There was so much attachment to Captain Tyrsdottir, in all this, and such a bewitching charm in a degree of hospitality so uncommon, so unlike the usual style of give-and-take invitations, and dinners of formality and display, that Loki felt a paradoxical decline in his spirits. "These all would have been my friends," was his thought; and he was glad the mesmerizing ocean distracted his companions from looking at his face and seeing melancholy there.

No melancholy was to be found in Haldor, who, perhaps driven to a new level of gregariousness by the delight of the day, turned to Loki with a grin as Captains Vanir, Tyrsdottir and Stormrider walked past. “These sailors have more worth than any other set of people in Asgard!” exclaimed he, and Loki saw all three of the captains fight back a smile.

. . . . . .

That night found the party staying at the inn to rest after their long day of traveling, but Sif surprised them all by disappearing into the streets and returning a quarter of an hour later with Hogun and Kelda in tow; Gunhild, it was explained, had gone to bed early after keeping up with all the young people had, in her words, worn her right out.

Sif, the center of attention as always, held court with Hogun on one side of the room, the two captains regaling their listeners with tales of military action against the Jotuns. Loki found himself on the other side of the room with only Kelda for company.

Though kind solicitude for the downtrodden was not one of Loki’s defining characteristics, he struck up a conversation with the melancholy sailor, and soon found himself highly rewarded for his efforts. In the course of the conversation, he discovered that Kelda was a talented though little-trained magician, with particular skill in weather magic. “Used it many a time to lessen a bad storm or put a stiff breeze in our sails,” said she with no small amount of pride. Loki had only minimal training in weather magic himself but found he had a great interest in learning more, so, in a move that was uncharacteristically charitable and social, he made an appointment to meet with her the following morning so they could learn from and teach each other in their respective magical fields.

This cheerful topic could not keep Kelda occupied forever, though, and after a time, she grew once again melancholy and wistful. When the topic of reading came up in the conversation, she stated that she had a great love of poetry, particularly those poets whose words resonated with her broken heart. The admission was accompanied by a lowering of her spirits.

“William would have married me before I left,” she lamented. “But I told him we should wait.” She gave a short, mirthless laugh. “For money.”

Entirely out of his depth, Loki could give only a general and unhelpful “You are young, Captain Stormrider. You will rally.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Odinson, but you have no idea what I suffer.”

Loki lifted his eyes and saw that Sif appeared to be watching them from across the room. When their eyes met, she promptly looked away, no doubt keen to make certain that he read nothing into her accidental glance his way. He swallowed the sigh that threatened to escape his lips. “Yes, I have.”

. . . . . .

The next morning, Loki rose early for a pleasant hour of instruction with Kelda, while the rest of the party slept late. When the others finally rose and had breakfasted, Sif and her friends took them on a tour of the naval base -- or rather, Hogun and Kelda took them on a tour, for Sif declared a few minutes into the tour that so much had changed since she was trained here eight years ago that she could hardly find her way around.

“I had no idea of how massive this place would be,” declared Hildegund after nearly an hour of viewing barracks and armories and hospitals and shipyards and docks.

“The Royal Navy is our most important institution,” declared Hogun. “The army becomes vitally important when land actions are required, but that is infrequent. The navy is constantly on patrol, preventing Jotun ships from getting too close to Asgard -- or to anywhere else.”

This declaration of naval superiority could not go unanswered by the two former soldiers among them, and soon a laughing little spat had risen up between the various persons in their group; it was declared that only trial by combat could settle this debate. So Hogun and Kelda led them to the officer’s training yard, where Hogun used his credentials to get the party admitted (when he explained he was there to prove to two soldiers how superior were sailors, he met with little resistance from the naval personnel on duty).

The space that they were shown into was massive, with a sunken sand-lined square to allow for sparring. “Hand-to-hand combat is a vital part of navy life,” explained Sif, picking up a spear from a nearby rack and running though what Loki assumed was the beginning of a warm-up routine. “The government will pay crews prize money for captured enemy ships and sailors, but nothing for sunken ships. So we make every attempt to board enemy ships and subdue those aboard without killing them or damaging the ship.”

“The adventures you must have had on the high seas!” declared Haldor. “The sights you must have seen!”

“We have seen amazing things,” agreed Kelda. “But we have seen terrible things as well. Many killed in battle; sailors on both sides of the conflict leaving grieving families behind.”

“And war refugees braving dangerous waters to find safety,” Hogun added.

Loki hesitated, worried the question on the tip of his tongue would give too much away, but also curious to find the answer. Eventually he gave in. “Did you ever see refugees from Jotunheim?”

The pause before Hogun’s reply might have been the result of surprise, or it might not have; he gave little away through his expression or body language. “Occasionally we saw Jotuns fleeing Jotunheim,” said he. “I suspect that, as with any war, the decisions of the Jotun government do not always reflect the desires of the common people.”

“I believe that Nidavellir is willing to take them in,” added Sif, who was examining Loki with a curiosity that set him on edge. He supposed that his question had indeed been strangely specific.

Haldor’s interruption then was a relief, for once. “I thought we came here to fight!” declared he, and his interjection had the desired effect of sending the combatants to prepare for the sparring. Hogun and Volstagg took to the ring first and the others gathered round to cheer them on.

Loki was glad of the distraction, as it gave him time to ponder. He was himself the child of a Jotun refugee, as far as his parents were aware. They had been to Alfheim to look after one of Odin’s business affairs when Thor was still a toddler; on their return some months later, a bad storm forced them to shelter in a protected harbor on an uninhabited island. When the storm subsided, Frigga followed the sound of crying to a nearby cove, where she found a shocking scene: the corpse of a Jotun woman, her fine dress in tatters, washed up on shore; floating in the sheltered cove nearby, a small boat. In that boat, trunks of clothing and food; a letter written in the languages of both Jotunheim and Nidavellir seeking sanctuary; and, miraculously still alive, a baby. A baby who, on being picked up, had immediately shifted his own appearance to match the Asgardians who held him: a powerful magic user, even as an infant.

Loki never knew whether to believe his mother’s claim that Odin had immediately agreed to the idea of adopting the child. But no matter how freely or begrudgingly his consent was given, the earl of Ringsfjord had returned to Asgard not long after and claimed that his second son had been born overseas while the family was traveling in Alfheim.

And so all had believed, including Loki himself, until the day, four years ago, when Loki had barged, unaccompanied, into the armory. His parents insisted that Loki and Thor not visit the place alone, claiming that it was full of dangerous objects. But Loki had been angry and reckless that day; a newspaper report had spoken the bravery of one Sif Tyrsdottir, first lieutenant with the Royal Navy, in the recent action near Hindi, and the sight of her name had pierced his heart. By this time, Sif had been lost to him for four years, and he had regretted letting her go every day, and his anger at his father had built up in his chest until he had barged into the armory simply as an act of defiance.

And in a way, it worked as a means to defy Odin, for in the armory he touched the Casket of Ancient Winters out of curiosity, and accidentally uncovered a secret the earl would much rather have kept hidden.

Volstagg just barely beat Hogun, and then Sif beat Fandral. Haldor insisted on a turn in the ring, and Sif indulged him; he barely lasted twenty seconds, and left the sparring pit looking embarrassed and a little angry.

Pressure then fell on Loki to try the ring, no matter how he protested that he had little experience in hand-to-hand combat, having learned only the basics of fencing at university.

It was Sif, unexpectedly, who suggested that he and Kelda fight with magic. This he was more willing to agree to, for here he knew he could acquit himself well. His proposed companion was less certain in her magical combat abilities, but she gamely agreed to defend herself against Loki’s spells. And so they stepped into the ring.

The bout was not so intense as it could have been; Loki was unwilling to harm the young lady, and so adopted a measured pace and used only the mildest of spells; most of them would simply have briefly made the young lady float or turn green or the like. But it looked quite impressive from the outside, he knew, and Kelda added a great deal of verisimilitude to the duel, for she was clearly exerting herself fully to block the spells. When it was over, the group applauded enthusiastically.

Embarrassment and pleasure in equal parts rushed through Loki when it was Sif who extended her hand to help him from the sparring pit. “You’ve improved, Mr. Odinson,” she said mildly, not releasing his hand when he was standing by her side.

Loki was momentarily surprised into silence at the compliment and at the extended contact. “I am pleased to hear my four years at university did not go to waste.”

She nodded. “And it’s good of you to befriend Kelda.”

“She’s a lovely woman,” was all Loki could manage to say.

“Sif, come help me choose a weapon!” Haldor called, breaking the moment that had stretched between them.

Sif blinked in surprise, then released his hand and turned away. And Loki could breathe again.

. . . . . .


	6. Chapter 6

. . . . . .

A happy week passed for the party. Loki rose before the rest to train with Kelda, who was rapidly improving under his tutelage. After breakfasting, the group would visit notable sights in the area or walk along the beach or return to the training yard for further training and sparring. Kelda and Hogun and Gunhild would join them for these outings, and in the evenings, they would dine either at Gunhild’s home or the inn. Evenings were spent in conversation and card games and music.

Loki could scarcely recall having enjoyed himself so well. Though he knew perfectly well he was not necessary to the happiness of any in the Thryheim party, mentoring Kelda gave him a sense of purpose and belonging. He found that he dearly loved to be by the sea, and knew that he would miss the crash of the waves and the salt in the air when he left. And Sif no longer seemed to be actively ignoring him. This should not be understood as her seeking him out; she still interacted with him but little. But it no longer felt as pointed as it had.

And one unexpected encounter lead to a boost in his confidence and happiness. Some four days into their visit, they went to walk along the beach and collect sea shells. When they had finished, they returned to the steps that would bring them back up to the streets of Tønsberg.

At the top of the steps stood quite the most beautiful lady Loki had ever seen, Captain Tyrsdottir excluded: with her auburn ringlets and perfect features and classically beautiful figure, she was what Frigga would have called a diamond of the first water, and her clothing was all that was fashionable. The vision of loveliness stood aside to wait her turn to come down the stairs. Loki, standing at the back of the group, had ample time to watch her acknowledge each person who passed: first Hildegund, then Volstagg, then Fandral, then Haldor, then Sif each received a kindly but small smile and a polite nod.

And then he approached. Their eyes locked, and the beautiful woman seemed to start, then stare. A smile crept over her delicate features, larger and more sincere than he had given anyone else, and Loki almost thought he saw a flush steal over her cheeks. For him -- for Loki Odinson, lesser second son -- this goddess dropped into a true curtsy.

Loki was not unaccustomed to such reactions from young ladies; he was handsome enough, and had found himself the center of feminine attention not infrequently in his time at university. But it had been some time since any such reaction had occurred; in recent years, when he was out socially he was nearly always in company with Thor, and no young lady would pay Loki any attention when Thor was nearby.

So he could not stop the feeling of pleasure that suffused through him at the young lady’s marked admiration. When he was a few steps past her, he found himself glancing back to see that she still stood at the top of the stairs, watching him go. Their eyes met, and the young lady glanced away shyly.

A surge of confidence rushed through him, and he gave her a small smile before turning back to follow his own group.

There he saw Sif had stopped as well and watched the whole exchange. Had she noticed the young lady’s attention to him?

Petty though it may have been, Loki found he rather hoped that she had. Clearly she had moved on, but it still brought him pleasure to know that she now saw that Loki Odinson could still catch the eye of a young lady. And when he returned to his room that night, he spent longer before his looking glass than was his wont, indulging in the pleasure of knowing that such a beautiful lady had seen something to admire in his visage.

The next morning, the identity of the young lady was discovered. The party were all breakfasting in the dining room at the inn when Volstagg drew attention to a carriage that stood just outside the window, trunks being loaded on by servants.

“What a fine vehicle!” he exclaimed. “And truly stunning horses.”

“Look!” cried Fandral as a figure walked to the carriage and was helped in by the coachman, “is that not that beautiful young lady we saw yesterday at the beach?”

“I believe so!” said Hildegund. “Indeed, she is a most lovely young woman. I wonder if she is anyone we should know.”

“Ho there!” Volstagg cried to the innkeeper’s wife who stood in the corner, seeing to the dishes, “do you know whose carriage that is?”

Obligingly the woman walked to the window, wiping her hands on her apron. “Indeed I do, sir!” exclaimed she. “One of our guests who is leaving us this morning. She gave her name as Lady Lorelei Incantare.”

Hildegund recognized the name, identifying her as the sister of the Duke of Nornheim. And Loki knew he had heard it before. “I believe I have heard her name in connexion with the University of Fólkvangr. I cannot think in what context, however.”

“Then perhaps you shall meet her again when you rejoin your family in Fólkvangr,” said Sif, who, along with Loki, was the only member of the party who had not flocked to the window to view the fine carriage.

He could not help the hint of a smile that tugged at his lips. “Perhaps I shall.”

. . . . . .

Loki would have been ready to call his sojourn in Tønsberg a most perfect week, until something happened to spoil the ending of it in a most serious and alarming way.

It was the day before he was set to leave, a parting that he anticipated with unhappiness and resignation. They were to tour the armory museum on the base, and Hogun had prevailed upon his friend Forseti, keeper of the museum, to give them a tour of the private collection as well: those weapons deemed too dangerous or too valuable to be placed on display for the public to view.

The museum was quite the most fascinating part of their entire trip, being filled with weapons in use by the Asgardian Royal Navy, as well as many collected overseas from allies and enemies. Because they were friends of Hogun’s, Forseti allowed them to do what most visitors could not, and handle the weapons on display. Volstagg, Fandral and Haldor were like little boys set loose in a toy shop, and the rest of the party was nearly as enthusiastic. Even Loki joined them; he had felt rather more at ease since Lorelei Incantare’s admiration had boosted his self-esteem, and was happy to engage in a mock duel with Fandral using Nidavellir-forged swords. When they were not playing with weapons, the sailors and soldiers in the group recounted tales of times they had fought alongside or against the various foreign weapons they saw.

When they had seen all of the public collection, Forseti took them to the private collection, as promised. “I must ask you not to touch these weapons,” said he, “for some of them are cursed, and could do you harm.”

Indeed, many of the weapons in this closed section of the building crackled with a sinister air that, to Loki, warned of danger more clearly than Forseti’s words could do. He noticed Kelda and Hildegund giving these a wide berth as well. Others were not enchanted but still looked especially deadly, being covered with with wicked hooks and spikes. Still others were kept there not for the danger they posed, but because they were constructed of expensive metals and liberally decorated with jewels: too much a temptation to thieves to put openly on display.

“Imagine wasting diamonds on a sword!” Hildegund exclaimed.

“Imagine owning such a sword,” responded Sif with relish, and Loki fought back a smile. She had always loved playing at soldiers and having sword fights with Thor armed only with long sticks; clearly her time in the navy had turned that early inclination for the martial arts into a well-developed passion.

In one gallery, Forseti drew their attention to a wickedly jagged sword of massive size hanging on the wall. It was made of a blue-ish metal Loki did not recognize, and he could feel its malicious presence from the other side of the room. Kelda and Hildegund, too, seemed to be made slightly uncomfortable by it, but none of the non-magicians in the room seemed to notice anything amiss.

“This is the most dangerous weapon in our collection,” said Forseti. “It was seized from a fallen Jotun general.”

That might explain, then, why Loki felt a faint calling from the sword, underneath the general sense of malice it exuded: perhaps it called out to his Jotun blood, as the Casket of Ancient Winters had done on that fateful day in Gladsheim’s armory.

“There is a strong enchantment on it. We suspect it is harmless for Jotuns to hold, but only the strongest of Asgardians -- strong both in body and in heart -- can lift it without being harmed. And, of course, to be stabbed by it would be disastrous indeed.”

A uniformed sailor appeared then and said something quietly to Forseti.

“Excuse me,” said their guide, “I must take care of something. I will return shortly.”

And so the group was left unsupervised in the gallery. Kelda and Loki began to discuss the various methods of tying enchantments to physical objects, while the rest of the group examined the many weapons in the gallery.

But the Jotun sword continued to draw attention -- especially from Haldor, who continually circled back to it. “Do you think it truly so dangerous?” he wondered aloud.

“I do,” said Kelda. “I can feel it.”

“But not to those strong of heart and of body,” he pointed out.

“This is not the moment to find out whether you are sufficiently strong to survive,” said his sister with a fond roll of her eyes.

“You’re not curious, Captain Tyrsdottir?” he asked.

“A bit,” replied that lady. “But not curious enough to risk my life on it.”

This seemed to be the general consensus of the group, which turned their attention back to the swords they were examining.

But Haldor’s body language was causing Loki unease. He watched the young man out of the corner of his eye and saw him look back and forth between the sword and Sif several times. And then he stepped toward the sword.

Sif saw the movement and turned toward him, her brow furrowed. “Haldor, do not be so foolish!”

“I am determined!” he declared. “I shall not be persuaded out of it; I know I have the strength to withstand it.”

Sif lifted a hand as though to command him to stop.

Haldor reached out and, in one swift movement, gripped the hilt of the Jotun sword and lifted it off its brackets on the wall.

The screaming began immediately. The sword glowed blue, and little fissures of white, like lightning, ran up and down the blade. Haldor had gone quite rigid, his mouth open in an endless cry of agony and his hand clamped around the hilt. Loki recognized the symptom; this involuntary clenching of the muscles was a common response to the Minor Lightning class of spells. Haldor was most likely unable to follow Volstagg’s desperate command to drop the sword.

The overpowering scent of magic filled the room. Sif began to run toward Haldor, but Loki found himself commanding her to stop, his mind whirling; if she tried to force the sword from his hands, she might be badly hurt as well. But Forseti had said it was suspected that Jotuns were impervious to the sword. Not to mention, some enchantments had less efficacy against magicians . . .

Without thinking further, he ran to Haldor, grateful he was wearing gloves that day, and with a quick precise movement, grabbed the crossguard and ripped the sword from Haldor’s hand, then cast it aside.

The sword clattered to the ground nearby, the glow and the lightning and the smell of magic fading. Haldor stopped screaming and collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

The horror of the moment to all who stood around!

Loki dropped to his knees by Haldor’s still body, joined almost immediately by a stricken-looking Sif. Hildegund burst into tears and rushed over as well; when she saw her brother’s pale and silent form, she nearly collapsed as well, and had to be supported by her husband.

“What do we do?” Sif demanded of Loki.

“Help me get him on his back,” Loki commanded, and Hogun and Fandral jumped to help. Loki ripped off his gloves and checked for a pulse, grateful that his classes on medicinal magic had included basic non-magical medical training as well. “He lives! His heart beats and he is yet breathing.”

Hildegund cried all the louder.

“A surgeon!” Loki declared next. “A surgeon must be fetched.”

“Yes, right away!” declared Sif, scrambling to her feet.

But Loki recalled her saying that the base had changed greatly since she was here last. “No, send Kelda! Kelda will know where a surgeon is to be found. One who is also a magician."

This was declared to be the best course of action, and Kelda ran from the room with all haste; it was fortunate that she had worn her naval uniform that day, with its trousers and sturdy boots. Under Loki’s instruction, the others lifted Haldor’s head and shoulders to keep his airway clear.

And then, there was nothing to do but wait.

Forseti pounded into the room not long after, his eyes wild with worry. “I heard the screams! What -- ” In that moment his gaze fell on the sword on the floor, and worry and anger clouded his face.

Hogun wearily nodded confirmation to the unasked question. “I am sorry, old friend. I never expected . . .”

“How did you get the sword from his hands?” Sif demanded of Loki. “And why did you risk it?”

The true answer to that question would lead to the destruction of Loki’s carefully constructed life. So he lied, “I noticed I was wearing the thickest gloves in the room. And I am a highly trained magician. It has been my experience that such training tends to build up an immunity to certain magicks. So I thought that if anyone in the room was going to risk touching the sword, it ought to be me.”

Forseti frowned. “You must be a highly trained magician indeed.”

Loki shrugged and gave him a weary smile. “Or perhaps I am one of those strongest Asgardians, as you said.”

Forseti shrugged then, as though to say that perhaps it was one of life’s mysteries that would remain unsolved. Loki was pleased to have the scrutiny off him, until he turned and saw that beneath Sif’s shock and grief was a touch of confusion and disbelief.

Fortunately, in that moment Hildegund began sobbing anew, and that brought everyone’s attention to the unconscious young man. “What else can we do?” Fandral demanded of Loki, for he, like everyone else in the room, seemed to be looking to him for guidance.

There was little that could be done but wait, but Loki, knowing the importance of keeping everyone calm, volunteered to check Haldor for lingering enchantments. This he did while everyone watched with bated breath. As he’d expected, there were none -- enchanted weapons rarely passed on enchantments of their own -- but he had distracted everyone long enough for Kelda to return with the surgeon.

The surgeon exuded a sense of calm and competency that Loki found immensely reassuring. Kelda introduced her as Idunn, and with a glance at Loki, said she was an expert in both magical and non-magical medicine.

Idunn got to her business immediately, and her report was not promising. “He yet lives,” said she, “but he is in a very bad way. I would like to do a full examination. Is there somewhere we can move him to? I cannot take him to the barracks medical building; it is only for enlisted personnel.”

“He can stay with us,” Hogun volunteered, his expression downcast. “I feel responsible for all this.”

“It is not your fault,” Volstagg assured him. “But I thank you for the offer. We will be glad to have somewhere quiet to place him.”

Idunn looked sharply at Loki then. “You are a magician, yes? I can sense that about you. Help me move him.”

So Loki and Idunn stood on either side of Haldor and performed a _fljóta _spell. His unconscious form slowly lifted into the air, settling in to hover a few feet off the ground, and with gesture and command, they began to move him carefully from the room. Hogun ran on ahead to inform his mother to prepare a room, and Sif, Fandral and Kelda went next to clear a path. Volstagg and Hildegund followed immediately behind the two magicians and the floating body, husband still supporting sobbing wife. And on they walked through the streets of Tønsberg like the most melancholy parade Loki had ever seen.

. . . . . .


	7. Chapter 7

. . . . . .

Gunhild had hastily prepared the guest room for their arrival; Idunn and Loki deposited their unconscious load on the bed and the surgeon immediately set to work examining him. She requested Loki’s continued presence, in case she should need another spellcaster, and he had Kelda sent for; she could be valuable both as a third magician and as someone familiar with both the household and the town.

The examination went on for nearly an hour. Hildegund’s wailing could be heard through the walls until Idunn, rolling her eyes, asked Loki to cast a sound-proofing spell on the room. Loki took the opportunity to quietly teach Kelda the basics of it, and she joked weakly that she wished she’d had such a spell on her last ship.

It was a long, tense time before Idunn straightened with a sigh. “It is as I expected: while there are things I can do to ease him and to promote healing, really we can only wait. He either will wake or he will not.”

“You do not know if he will survive?” Kelda asked tearfully; the young lady had never grown particularly close to Haldor, but Loki supposed seeing him so still and pale on the bed might remind her of her own lost love, who succumbed to illness.

“He is young and strong,” said Idunn. “I have high hopes that he will pull through. Now, young lady, you are both a resident of this house and a magician?”

Kelda nodded.

“Then I must press you into service as a nurse. Come here and I will teach you what must be done for him. In the meantime, young man, go to the kitchen garden and fetch me a bunch of feverfew.”

Loki agreed, only too glad to leave the sickroom.

He found himself first startled, then resigned when he left the room and saw Sif standing at the end of the hall, looking anxious and haggard. No doubt she was waiting on tenterhooks for any news of her beau’s well-being. With a sigh, Loki pulled the door shut and walked toward her.

“Any news?”

“Idunn has some procedures she recommends, but she says that ultimately there is nothing that we can do but wait,” said he. “She is hopeful, though, given his youth and vitality.”

Sif sagged in both relief and worry. “This is my fault,” she said in a low voice. “He picked up the sword to impress me. Had I not encouraged him in his impetuosity -- had I not spoken glowingly of ‘men of action’ -- we would not be here.”

Loki was exhausted. He had put his life on the line to save a young man he did not much like, and now the woman he loved was waiting like a worried wife outside the sickroom, and suddenly he was fed up with keeping quiet. Suddenly he felt more like his old self than he had in months.

“Perhaps,” he said tartly. “But Haldor is a grown man. He is old enough for society to recognize him as an adult, old enough to inherit an estate and take responsibility for the livelihood and well-being of his tenants. And if, despite being old enough to know better, he is stupid enough get himself killed trying to show off, that sounds like a personal failing, and no fault of yours.”

Immediately he regretted his words -- because they were unfeeling, not because they were untrue -- for Sif was staring at him with wide eyes. But then the corners of her lips turned up in a tiny smile. “That’s the first time you’ve sounded like your old self since I came back to Ringsfjord,” she said quietly. “I’d been wondering where the Loki I knew had gotten to.”

His response was equally quiet. “The Loki you knew has had much to deal with of late.”

“Is that Loki?” came Hildegund’s voice from downstairs. “Come give us a report!”

“Can you tell them what I have told you?” Loki asked Sif. “Idunn has asked me to fetch her herbs.”

Sif agreed, and hesitated as though there was more she would say, and then went downstairs to the sitting room while Loki went out to the garden.

. . . . . .

The conversation lingered at the back of Loki’s mind as he fetched first the herbs, and then several other ingredients for Idunn. It lingered as he helped her make up a poultice, and then as she taught him and Kelda how to cast and observe a spell to monitor a patient’s vital signs. It lingered as she told him and Kelda that she would go give a full report to the rest of the party, and Kelda said she would go change her clothing before she came back down, and Loki went to splash water on his face and clean himself up as best he could.

As he approached the sitting room where the rest of their party was gathered, he became aware first of the sound of Sif’s voice, and then of the sound of his own name.

“Loki should stay,” Sif was insisting. “There is no one so capable as Loki.” She looked up then and saw him standing in the doorway, and said, concern marring her brow, “You will stay, won’t you? Stay and nurse Haldor?”

Loki had little interest in doing any such thing, but neither did he want to disappoint Sif when she was looking at him so earnestly.

Fortunately, Hildegund’s impassioned response made up his mind for him. “I will stay,” came her firm reply. “He is my brother; I am by far the properest person to nurse him. And I am well versed in this sort of magic.” She turned a watery smile on Loki. “Besides, what about Sif’s letter?”

“Sif’s letter?” he repeated.

Sif straightened up. “Yes, I nearly forgot. I’ve had a letter from my brother Heimdall. He said there has been a problem with one of the wards at Gladsheim, and as he knows that you must return to Thryheim to gather the rest of your things before you rejoin your parents, he wonders if you would consent to go have a look at your estate. He would be glad to host you for a few days.”

So it was decided that Hildegund would stay, along with Fandral and Sif; Gunhild was happy to offer up room in her home for the grieving sister, although Loki divined, from the significant looks passed between mother and daughter, that to fit their guest would require Kelda to move in to Gunhild’s room. Fandral and Sif would stay at the inn. Meanwhile, Volstagg and Loki would return to Ringsfjord: Volstagg to relieve Bjørn of his childcare duties and acquaint him with what had happened, Loki to see to the wards at Gladsheim.

It was a somber group that dined at the inn that night. Afterward no one seemed overly inclined to talk much, but neither did they go to bed; perhaps no one wanted to be alone with the terrible memory of Haldor’s screams echoing through their heads. So they sat quietly together in the common room at the inn, reading or writing letters.

In time Kelda drifted over to Loki and they had a quiet conversation about some of the magic they had been practicing together. She, like Loki, did not seem so shaken as all the rest, and he wondered if it was because they had actually been in the sickroom with the patient. They knew for themselves exactly how he fared, and knowing it gave them comfort. All the rest had not been permitted to see him, save Hildegund, and their imaginations were therefore given free reign to jump to the worst possible conclusions.

Whatever the reason, the two magicians talked easily and quietly, ignoring the looks that Sif occasionally shot their way, and it occurred to Loki that he’d grown rather fond of the young sailor, and would be sorry to no longer have their lessons to look forward to.

To say as much would be out of character for him. But he did say that she was coming along very well in her magic, and that he hoped that it would be of use to her once she had been assigned to a ship again.

“Thank you very much,” said she, “and thank you for all of your help. I have indeed learned much, and . . . I have enjoyed our discussions.” She seemed to have a bit of heightened color in her cheeks, but Loki attributed it to their being so near to the fire.

They sat together in silence a moment, until Kelda said quietly, “I wonder if . . . would I be too forward to ask . . .”

Loki waited, suspicion welling inside him.

“Never mind,” she finished finally, with a smile. “I was talking nonsense. Now, do show me that scrying spell you were telling me of.”

Loki allowed her to change the subject, but he wondered a long time afterward whether she had been about to do something to indicate a romantic interest. It was an interest he did not share, so he was glad she had not been able to bring herself to say anything. But still, it was an interesting development: perhaps Kelda Stormrider was getting over her mourning at last.

. . . . . .

When morning came, Hildegund, Fandral and Sif made their way to Gunhild’s home immediately after breakfast; Volstagg and Loki remained behind to have their trunks loaded onto the carriage, then followed. Both men went immediately to Haldor’s room, where they learned that there had been no change since last night. Volstagg went to comfort his wife, and Loki, uncomfortable intruding on such an intimate scene, slipped quietly from the room.

He wandered the halls aimlessly for a few minutes, then sat on a bench in a deserted hallway, only to realize immediately that he had accidentally placed himself, not for the first time in the last few weeks, in a perfect spot to eavesdrop on one of Sif’s conversations.

And as with last time, he had no qualms about listening. But the all-too-common fate of the eavesdropper overtook him: he heard something he did not want to hear.

It started with Sif’s voice, saying that she would not make plans to leave Tønsberg until they were more certain of Haldor’s recovery.

“I see,” said Hogun, and then he paused. “You know, I must congratulate you. Haldor is a very handsome gentleman.”

Loki’s blood ran cold.

“I’m sorry?” said Sif, and Hogun laughed.

“It is far too late for discretion and concealment now, old friend. If you think you have been subtle about your preference for Haldor, you think wrong, for you have flirted and sought his company time and time again. Everyone knows of it. Everyone is speaking of it.”

“Everyone?” Sif repeated, in a tone Loki could not read.

“The great Captain Tyrsdottir, famous for proclaiming time and again that men were far more of a nuisance than they were worth, finally forming an attachment to a young man? Of course everyone is speaking of it. Half of Tønsberg is taking bets on when your engagement will be announced. His sister and brother-in-law speak of little else: speculating when the young man will build up the courage to ask for your hand.”

A door opened nearby, a maid emerging with an armful of dirty linens. She gave Loki a brief, curious look, and he, red-faced and embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping -- even by a maid -- stood from his bench and snuck silently away down the hallway.

He was glad Volstagg was ready to leave when he found him; he was glad it was less than a day to Thryheim. He was glad that he was able to keep his countenance, and converse composedly with Volstagg all the way home; he had always been an excellent liar.

But he was most glad when he could finally collapse on his bed at Fandral’s cottage and finally give into the grief he’d felt at Hogun’s words.

Sif was all but engaged to Haldor: everyone knew it, everyone was speaking of it. It was only he who was foolish enough to hope things might turn out otherwise. For a moment he had the wild urge to saddle a horse and gallop back to Tønsberg, to confess to Sif that he had never stopped loving her and apologize for breaking for heart. But how could he? She was wealthy and beautiful and carefree; the whole world was at her feet. He was the Jotun son of a disgraced earl; he had nothing to offer any woman but a life of infamy and unhappiness -- and danger, were his true background ever discovered. Not to mention that he would receive none of his inheritance if Odin disapproved of the match, and the last time he’d tried to marry Sif, Odin had indeed disapproved most vehemently. How could he offer her a life of poverty and deprivation?

And most importantly of all, Sif no longer cared for him. How could she? He had promised her the world, and then, not twenty-four hours later, he had betrayed her. He had stood pale and tense as she barged into Gladsheim, informing him that Odin had come to her father and threatened his position as curate if Sif did not cry off. “But I will not be threatened by him,” she had said earnestly. “Loki, I love you, and I will marry you even if your parents disapprove. We can make our own way through the world.”

Loki was silent, and doubt grew on her face. “You do still want to marry me, don’t you?”

Heart cracking to see such pain on such a beloved face, Loki said desperately, “You must see where my parents are coming from. With your profession, and . . . and . . .”

At that, her expression grew stony and fierce. “Loki Odinson, are you saying you agree with your father that I should cry off? Are you saying you do not wish to marry me?” She scowled even more. “Did you know that your father was going to threaten mine?”

The answer to her first and third questions was yes, to his shame. The answer to the second question was no; he wished for nothing more than to marry her. But Odin had been so relentless, and Frigga so persuasive . . . “Sif, I’m sorry,” was all the despairing reply he could muster.

“So am I,” she said darkly. “You get your wish, Mr. Odinson.” Such formal use of his full name made him wince as though she’d cracked a whip across his shoulders. “I release you from our engagement. And I pray I never see your miserable face again.”

And she hadn’t, for eight years.

Loki concluded his reminiscences with a melancholy shake of his head. With such history, he could not possibly ask Sif for a second chance. He would have to watch as she married Haldor, would have to pretend to be happy every time Hildegund read out the latest letter from the couple, telling of their life together and their children and their joy -- 

Loki had never wished more than he did at that moment that he had ignored his parents and married Sif Tyrsdottir when he had the chance.

. . . . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick footnote, in case you are not as much a Regency romance nerd as I am: once a man proposed to a woman, the engagement could basically only be ended by her. The agreement to marry her was considered sort of an informal but binding contract, and for a man to break that agreement would reflect badly on him socially, and the jilted lady had the right to sue for breach of promise.
> 
> The point is, if you’re confused about why Odin didn’t force Loki to end the engagement, and instead forced Tyr to force Sif to end it, that’s why.


	8. Chapter 8

. . . . . .

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. Loki awoke the next day feeling much better, and determined to put Sif from his mind. What use was there in pining for what could never be his?

So he put on his most cheerful face as he made his way to the great house to visit Bjørn and Volstagg and the children. The children were all predictably worried about their uncle Haldor, and Loki distracted them for some time with magic tricks and illusions while the adults spoke heavily of what was likely happening in Tønsberg and what was to be done. An early dispatch from Hildegund informed them that there was no change in her brother’s health, and gloom settled over the group, broken only when Loki cast a glamour over one of the hounds and made it appear to be a tiger.

He spent three days with the family, helping with the children and providing what comfort he could muster to the adults. Then he packed all his things, dutifully thanked Bjørn for his hospitality these last weeks, and took his gig -- which had been in the Thryheim stables all this time -- to Gladsheim.

Heimdall greeted him very kindly and instructed the footmen to take his things up to his old room. “You are extraordinarily kind, to make time to help the man who has driven you out of your home.”

A cynical little smile crossed Loki’s lips. “We drove ourselves out,” he reminded him. “And anyway, it’s in my best interest to keep the estate in good working order, for when we return. Whenever that time may be.” He hesitated, then joked, “Besides, I always like feeling needed.”

It was the sort of joke Loki liked to make because their was a hint of truth in it -- it amused him to slip lies into honest statements and truth into jests and deceptions -- but he immediately regretted it, for Heimdall considered him gravely. The admiral had a way of making one feel as though he saw far more than the common man: as though his extraordinary-colored eyes observed the whole universe, and saw what others would like to keep hidden. And he worried that the man would discern the truth: that Loki did truly like feeling like others needed him, for he rarely felt that way among his family and friends.

So he quickly said he would like to go to his room and freshen up. Heimdall said that he would meet him in the front sitting room when he was finished, and Loki escaped up the familiar stairs.

It is always a strange thing, to return to a familiar place after a long time away. The slightest changes jumped out at him, and even those parts of the house that had not changed had a surreal quality about them, as though the walls had all moved a few inches. Even his old room looked strange, with all his personal effects packed away in his trunk and in storage.

When he had freshened up, he found Heimdall, who invited him to take some tea with him. Loki joined him with some trepidation, but he found that, to his relief, Heimdall wanted to talk little of his sister, or of the trip to Tønsberg, or of the terrible accident that had befallen there. Instead he spoke companionably to Loki of the house and the tenants.

And that conversational pattern followed over the next three days. One of the wards had indeed been corrupted by a misfired spell from the game keeper, and to recast the whole thing took Loki two days; he spent the other day riding over the familiar lands, enjoying having some time to himself. So he saw Heimdall only at breakfast and in the evenings, and during those times, Heimdall rarely brought up Sif or Haldor.

Instead he spoke of Gladsheim, and told tales of adventures he’d had on the high seas. He asked about Loki’s past, and whether he looked forward to joining his family in Fólkvangr. (The true answer to that question was “not particularly.” Loki did not want to speak of what had happened in Tønsberg, but the place was on his mind constantly, and he was somewhat ashamed to realize that he would rather think of the cry of the gulls, and the sight of all the ships in the bay, and Sif outlined against the sun setting over the ocean, and the friendship of Hogun and Kelda, than of his own family. Perhaps that came, he thought, of being a wicked Jotun, and not a true son of Odin at all. Or perhaps he had simply been happier in Tønsberg than he had been in some time.)

What surprised him most about the visit was realizing how little he had truly missed Gladsheim. In the past four years, he had become rather homebound; the discovery of his true heritage had left him little inclined to socialize with his neighbors, partly out of a sense that he had even less in common with them than he had thought, and partly out of a vague fear that the closer he became to people, the more likely it was that his secret would be discovered. So for four years, he had joined his family for the Season in Valhalla a few months of the year (much of which he spent hiding in their townhouse), but spent the majority of the year holed up in Gladsheim, practicing magic and attending social events only when his mother insisted. And in that time, Gladsheim had come to feel more a prison than a home; he had not realized just how much he’d needed to escape until this trip to Thryheim and Tønsberg.

Being away and seeing the ocean had reminded him of how much he had once longed to travel and see the world. The old longing came back to him full force now, but what could be done about it? He did not have the necessary money, and he would not have the money until he made what Odin considered a suitable match, at which point he would have a wife and his hopes of traveling would be dashed anyway.

Occasionally he thought of Fandral’s advice, that he could seek employment as a magician, and while he still feared the response of his father (and of society at large), he could not deny that the idea held more and more fascination for him as time went by.

On the last day of Loki’s stay at Gladsheim, Fandral came to visit. He had come to take over watching the children while Volstagg and Bjørn traveled to Tønsberg, but before they left, he took an hour to come to Gladsheim and acquaint Loki with how Haldor did.

“There was no change at all for the first two days, and we feared the worst,” said he, accepting a plate of biscuits from Heimdall. “But on the third day he opened his eyes, only for a moment, and then that night woke completely; by the time I left them, he was sitting up and making conversation. Idunn is confident that he shall make a full recovery. She warns, though, that he has a long convalescence ahead of him; she says he should not expect to leave Tønsberg for weeks, or even months.”

Duty prompted Loki to say, “I am glad to hear of his recovery.”

“Glad to hear that your hard work was not wasted, are you?” said Fandral with a smile, and regaled Heimdall with the tale of how Loki had saved Haldor’s life. Throughout the story, Heimdall simply fixed Loki with that gaze that saw too much, leaving him feeling suddenly uneasy.

Quickly he changed the subject. “And how are the others? How does Hildegund fare?”

“Far better, now that she knows her brother is to survive. Hogun’s family are well too, and bore very cheerfully the news that Haldor might be a long-term guest. Kelda has been invaluable as a nurse, and Gunhild has kindly sat with the patient when Hildegund or Kelda is not available.”

“Kelda?” Heimdall asked.

“Hogun’s sister,” Fandral explained. “Lovely girl.” A sly smile spread across his face. “Rather fond of our Loki.”

Heimdall turned an interested gaze on Loki, who shrank back somewhat from the scrutiny. “Oh?”

“Oh yes,” was Fandral’s smiling reply, “they got very close when he was in town, and after he left she talked of him frequently; she spoke of books he’d recommended, magic he’d taught her . . . you have quite an admirer, Loki.” He took a sip of his tea. “She’s an odd duck, though! The day you left, she agreed to break away from her nursing duties for a few hours some time soon to come shooting with me and Hogun, but then when we made plans to go out day before last, she said there’d been a misunderstanding, and she’d never meant to go. She’d rather stay at the house. Is not that the oddest thing?”

Loki little knew how to respond, so instead he asked after Gunhild.

When the report had been given that the kindly old matron was quite well, and seemed very much to enjoy having so much hustle and bustle about the house, it was Heimdall who finally asked after the last member of the party. “And my sister?”

In response they learned that Sif was very well indeed; that her spirits had been recovering since Haldor awoke, and that she was now quite a different creature than she had been after the accident; that she had not been in to see Haldor, fearful that too much excitement could set back his recovery; and that -- perhaps most remarkable -- she had left Tønsberg nearly a week ago.

“She has gone to Gymirsgard to see her parents,” Fandral explained. “An extraordinary thing, if you ask me; does she not want to stay by Haldor’s side? But she said she would go away until he was feeling better, so now she is gone.”

This did seem somewhat extraordinary for two people so nearly engaged, but Loki reflected that perhaps Haldor’s misfortune weighed too heavily on her, and she preferred to be elsewhere so as not to discourage him with her low spirits.

. . . . . .

The following day was fixed as the day Loki would travel to Fólkvangr, so his family sent the carriage to Gladsheim to fetch him. He bid Heimdall farewell with more real affection than he would have expected; he had grown rather fond of the admiral, who was perhaps too knowing, but who was also excellent at sensing when a person would rather be silent, or talk only of inconsequential things.

Four hours later, he was climbing out the carriage in front of the townhouse his family had taken. It was in a handsome building on Bridge Street, in the heart of Fólkvangr’s most fashionable district; of course Odin would settle for nothing less.

Inside the house, he was greeted most enthusiastically by his family, and he greeted them mostly enthusiastically back. Frigga, of course, pulled him into a warm embrace and declared several times how much she had missed him; Loki returned the embrace readily. Odin smiled kindly and called him “my boy” and said it was good to have him back where he belonged; Loki, who had never entirely forgiven his father for his role in the Sif affair, but who still longed for paternal love and approval, smiled back.

And Thor rose from the settee to embrace him tightly, exclaiming how very glad he was to see him again, and listing the many sights around town he wanted to take him to. “Oh,” said he, “but you will know them already, no doubt, from your time at university.”

Were he in a worse mood, Loki would have confirmed that he did, no doubt, know them already from his time at university. But this reunion with his family, who looked genuinely pleased to see him again, had cheered him, so he assured Thor that he would be happy to see anything that his brother cared to show him.

They inquired after the neighborhood, and Gladsheim, and the family at Thryheim; Loki told them of Haldor’s accident, and they made the appropriate sounds of dismay and concern.

But their conversation focused mostly on their life in Fólkvangr. They found the city had answered their expectations in every respect. This was the finest house on the finest street in Fólkvangr, and the drawing room was quite superior to all other drawing rooms in the neighborhood: this was Odin’s contribution to the conversation. The society was excellent, and there were assemblies and parties all the time, and the family scarcely had an evening go by without an invitation or a public event to attend (a fact Loki heard with some misgivings): this was Frigga’s praise of the place. Fólkvangr had some lovely parks and some lovely countryside roundabout for riding in, and there were ever so many young people to meet; this was Thor’s review.

It was a pleasant scene, in a beautifully appointed sitting room, at the finest address in Fólkvangr. And yet, all Loki could think of was how different this was to Gunhild’s house, which had less opulence but more true comfort, and which was filled to the brim with kindness and hospitality. 

The family were engaged that evening for dinner and cards at a neighbor’s house, and Frigga had already procured an invitation for Loki. So he dressed and joined them in the carriage at the appointed hour.

The evening surprised Loki by being entirely tolerable. He saw how quickly his family had made friends; half the party seemed to be on intimate terms with them. Frigga had been correct when she had prophesied that the people of Fólkvangr would little mind the scandal that clung to the house of Odin.

Loki himself was welcomed too, and though he appreciated that, he could not help but compare the elegant formality of the people here to the easy familiarity of the friends he’d made in Tønsberg. Still, there were agreeable people to meet and decent conversation to be had, and it was not at all a chore to spend the evening playing at cards there.

Thor joined him on a sofa at one point in the evening and conversed with him for a quarter of an hour. His relationship with Thor had always been complicated. His older brother was handsome and charismatic and universally liked, not to mention their father’s heir and future earl of Ringsfjord, and Loki -- less handsome, less charismatic, less universally liked, and untitled -- had always resented him for it somewhat. The relationship was made both better and worse by the fact that Thor seemed never to notice Loki’s resentment; he clearly assumed that his younger brother loved him as simply and sincerely as he loved him. This kept Loki’s occasional fits of pique from leading to real conflict, but it also irritated Loki on occasion, when he wanted Thor to notice how he was feeling.

The discovery of his Jotun heritage had complicated the relationship even further. Thor knew nothing; Frigga and Odin had recommended, and Loki had agreed, that Thor should be told only when Loki felt ready to make that disclosure. Loki wondered often how his adopted brother would react should he learn the truth, and he always immediately ignored the thought that sometimes came to him that, as much as he grumbled about Thor on occasion, he’d be devastated if learning of his Jotun background caused Thor to shun him. So any time he spent with his brother was a maelstrom of emotions: grudging love for his brother, resentment of Thor’s manifest perfection, appreciation of attention Thor gave to him, irritation at the attention every other resident of Asgard gave to Thor, and fear of discovery.

Is it any wonder, then, that Loki was both pleased and the slightest bit unsettled to have Thor leave the company of many fashionable people in order to sit with him in a quiet corner?

“Will you be happy here, brother?” was Thor’s opening question. “Mother said that you are not so fond of Fólkvangr anymore.”

While this was true, dwelling on the subject could force Loki to reveal the source of his unhappiness in Fólkvangr: that it reminded him of his heartbreak over both Sif and his Jotun heritage. So he assured his brother that all was well, adding that he had hope of pleasant distractions in Fólkvangr as well: -- “I have friends who are yet in the city,” he stated. “One of my dearest friends from university, Sigyn, still resides here with her husband Theoric. They are both employed by the university. I am hoping to find time to visit them soon.”

“Excellent!” declared Thor. “And you shall have to come out with me some mornings for riding or walking, depending on your mood. There is so much green space here! I admit it is far superior to Valhalla in that respect. And I hope you will not object to attending some of the public assemblies with us. They are vastly pleasant, and there are ever so many lovely ladies in attendance.”

Loki snorted at that. “If lovely ladies are a draw for you, I take it you are no longer mourning the loss of Miss Valkyrie.”

Thor’s expression confirmed just how little he mourned his ended engagement. “I would have married her to please Father. But I admit, I am not unhappy that the marriage is no longer to occur.”

“Pleasing Father is all well and good,” said Loki. “But as it is you who must live out the rest of your life with your future bride, not Father, I hope your next choice will also please you.”

“Well said,” chortled Thor. “And believe me, I do intend to seek out a lady who pleases me.”

Loki lifted an eyebrow. “Are you in the process of seeking a lady? Now, with . . . everything going on?”

Here his brother’s countenance fell. “I realize this might not be the moment to find a wife; surely the scandal currently attached to our names will not be an asset in such an endeavor. But I must admit that preparing myself to marry Miss Valkyrie put the idea of marriage so firmly in my mind that I cannot dislodge it. I find myself ready to find a wife and settle down.”

“Truly?” asked Loki, surprised, for Thor’s love of all women, and difficulty in picking just one to focus on, was legendary in Asgard.

“Truly,” was Thor’s embarrassed response. Then, defensively: -- “Is that so odd? We are quite grown, Loki. You are twenty-seven. I will be thirty soon. Perhaps it is time for us to settle down. Besides, I have been thinking on the subject lately, and I find something very beguiling in the notion of finding someone you love to live your life with.”

Embarrassment still colored his face and words, and small wonder, for Thor was not given to sentimentality. So Loki’s response was uncharacteristically gentle and supportive. “Then perhaps this scandal will work in your favor,” said he.

“How so?”

“If you find a young lady willing to marry you despite the scandal, you shall know her affections are strong and sincere.”

The idea made Thor smile, and Loki, feeling that he had been too sentimental, slapped his brother on the shoulder. “I shouldn’t worry if I were you, though; what young lady does not want to be Viscountess Mjolnir? And someday a countess?”

Thor snorted and punched his brother affectionately and painfully in the arm.

. . . . . . 


	9. Chapter 9

. . . . . .

At the first possible opportunity, Loki slipped away from his family’s endless parade of social calls and country rides and visits to gentlemen’s clubs and mornings spent being at home to callers, and went to visit Sigyn. She and her husband Theoric lived in modest but comfortable rooms very near to the university, where they both were employed.

It was that employment that had led to tragedy for the couple. Theoric was a professor of magic at the university, and Asgard’s leading mind for the creation of new spells; he was often sought for collaboration by other magicians and scholars. During one such collaboration two years previous, a spell had backfired horribly, catching Theoric in the blast. It was all that the best magical and medical minds in the kingdom could do to save his life and the use of his arms; he was now paralyzed from the waist down and confined to a wheelchair. Loki had neither the talent nor the inclination for comforting those in need of comfort, but, not wanting to distress Sigyn or Theoric if it could be avoided, he occupied himself on the hackney cab ride to their home with arranging expressions of sympathy that could be deployed as needed.

At first he thought they would not be necessary, though, for when Sigyn greeted him at the door, she informed him that Theoric was not at home.

“Ah,” said Loki, “is he off teaching at the university, then?”

Sigyn’s expression dropped somewhat as she turned to lead him down the hall to the sitting room. “He is still a researcher there. They . . . they had to take away his classes, after the accident. He is prone to fatigue and sudden, debilitating headaches, which make it difficult for him to reliably show up to lectures.”

So words of comfort were needed after all. “I am sorry to hear that,” he recited.

“We are learning to cope,” said Sigyn firmly. “Things are getting better. And my salary at the library has been enough to make up for the lost income.” Optimism and fortitude had ever been her watchwords and her guiding principles. Rather surprising that such a person would befriend Loki, come to think of it. “It is so good to see you! It has been four long years since we were last in company.”

Four years indeed it had been, but as Loki stepped into that familiar sitting room, for a moment he felt that no time had passed at all. It was to Sigyn and Theoric’s home that he had fled after his discovery of his Jotun heritage; his friend and her husband had kindly allowed him to stay in their guest room for two months, and asked him no questions about what had driven him from his home. A kindness indeed, from a couple who had only been married for six months at that point.

The memory made him wince with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he apologized softly, for she was one of the few people in this world about whose opinion he cared. “I should have come to you, after the accident.”

Sigyn turned a wry smile on him. “No, you shouldn’t have. There was nothing that you could do, Theoric’s mother was staying with us so we’d have had no room to host you, and you are terrible at offering comfort and making yourself useful around the house.”

None of these things could Loki deny, so he smiled back and marveled again that such a kind-hearted and forgiving person should be one of his dearest friends. It was one of those friendships that could only be forged in hardship: in their case, an impossibly difficult lecture they were both enrolled in during their first year of university, with an impossibly difficult professor. They would both go to the library directly after class to go over the notes they’d just taken and try to make sense of them; in time, Sigyn began joining him at his table so they could decipher their notes together. And a beautiful friendship was born.

“Now,” said she, “tell me everything that has happened since your last letter.”

His last letter was written just before the scandal broke, and he found himself hesitating a moment.

“Well, yes,” she said, apparently reading his unspoken thoughts, “I know about the scandal. Even the walls of this ivory tower are not so high as to keep out such a widespread tale as that one.”

Loki sighed. “Then you know what has occupied most of my time. My parents decided to relocate here for a time, until the scandal blows over, and until our financial situation is more stable. I went to visit Fandral first -- you remember hearing of Fandral, I am sure -- and then I joined them.” For a moment he considered telling her about Sif; she knew more about that situation than anyone in his life, including his parents. Even Thor knew little; he had been told that Sif and Loki had a brief flirtation before she went into the navy, and Loki broke it off because he knew it could go nowhere, and Sif had been a little hurt by it, which had been the cause of her never returning to Ringsfjord.

But Sigyn had become his confidante after his great disappointment, having quickly detected his sorrow after he returned to  Fólkvangr for his second year of university. Under her gentle persuasion, he admitted all; and she had remained his confidante and comforter in this matter for their entire friendship.

In the end Loki said nothing, however; there was little of note to tell, and to say that he expected any day to hear news of Sif’s engagement to Haldor would only cause him pain.

In time the discussion turned to magic, and they spent a very happy hour discussing all the latest developments and discoveries. In order to receive the latest information, Loki subscribed to an annual scholarly journal, published and distributed by the College of Magic at the University of  Fólkvangr. But Sigyn was in the thick of it, being married to a noted researcher and being herself a reference librarian in the College of Magic’s academic library. So Loki had long relied on her letters for any information or developments that arose between printings of the journal.

Talk flowed easily, as it always did between them, and for that hour, some of the stress left Sigyn’s face. She’d always been a beautiful young lady: delicate and ethereal and white blonde in coloring, unlike . . . well, unlike some other young ladies. Loki had long wondered whether they would have fallen in love, had they met under different circumstances; perhaps when her sweet-natured persistence wore through his defensive wall at university, she would have found her way to his heart.

But that was not to be; when they met at eighteen years of age, he had long harbored secret feelings for his dear friend Sif and was therefore uninclined to pursue any other lady, and Sigyn had long been engaged to Theoric, because of an agreement between their fathers. True arranged marriages had fallen out of style decades ago, and the law required all parties in a wedding to freely consent, but informal arrangements like Sigyn’s, unrelentingly pushed forward by the young people’s families for the sake of monetary or social gain, were unfortunately still prevalent.

Sigyn had been fortunate in her match, at least; Theoric was a good man who supported her academic and professional ambitions, and who shared her interest in magic, having graduated from the College of Magic four years before she did. Of course his accident had undoubtedly caused many difficulties for his wife, but still, his kindness must count for something.

And with this on his mind, he couldn’t help speaking to Sigyn when she walked him to the door at the end of the visit: “I truly am sorry for what happened to Theo,” said he. “If there’s anything at all I can do . . .”

Sigyn gave him a gentle smile. “Simply visit me, while you are here, and keep writing when you are not. To hear from a good friend is a wonderful distraction when times of stress come. But truly, we are doing all right.” She hesitated. “Strange as it sounds, our marriage has benefited in some ways. He has had to learn to rely on me, and we have grown closer because of it.”

Loki was glad to hear it, having long known that Sigyn and Theoric’s was not a love match. “I shall visit again soon,” he assured her, and bade her farewell.

. . . . . .

The old adage to make new friends and keep the old became the summary of Loki’s new life in Fólkvangr, for the day after visiting his old friend Sigyn, he made a new acquaintance.

The family were sitting in the drawing room at the townhouse on Bridge Street one morning, just at the end of the visiting hours, when the butler announced a final caller: “Lady Lorelei Incantare, my lord.”

Loki was all surprise. “I know that name,” said he. “We stayed in the same inn in Tønsberg. How strange that she should now call on us here!”

“Have you met her?” Frigga asked in delight, and when Loki said that no, he had only seen her, she pressed on, “She is quite the loveliest girl I have ever seen. And so mannerly, so clever, so accomplished! She is the sister of the Duke of Nornheim, did you know? How kind of her to call on us! We met her at a card party just a few days before you arrived, dear, and we all hit it off immediately, didn’t we? Didn’t you think she was wonderful, Thor?”

Thor, who had been distracted by a fine pair of horses pulling a carriage past the house, turned from the window with a start. “Certainly, Mother,” said he, in a way that told Loki that he had paid no attention and little knew what he had just agreed to.

“Show her in,” said Odin to the butler, who bowed and disappeared, soon returning with the vision of loveliness who had crossed Loki’s path at the seaside.

“My lord, my lady.” She dropped a small but elegant curtsy.

“Lady Lorelei!” Frigga declared. “How good of you to call on us! You remember my eldest son, I presume? Lord Thor Odinson, Viscount Mjolnir.” Frigga was clearly keen to impress, pulling out courtesy titles even though the lady had already made Thor’s acquaintance.

Thor bowed.

“And allow me to introduce my younger son, the Honourable Mr. Loki Odinson.”

Keen to impress indeed: Loki rarely used that style these days, though legally he was entitled to it. Frigga evidently wanted this Lady Lorelei Incantare to think well of them. The most obvious reason for this was the lady’s connexion to the Duke of Nornheim -- Frigga and Odin had always put a great deal of stock into titles -- but from the way his mother’s gaze darted back and forth between the young lady and Thor, Loki guessed there was another reason. Perhaps she sensed that Thor was, as he’d confessed on Loki’s first night in Fólkvangr, ready to marry.

But when Lorelei Incantare turned and saw Loki sitting in the corner, she seemed to quite forget that Thor was even in the room. “You are the elusive younger Odinson?” she asked, her eyes alight with recognition. “But this is extraordinary! We have already crossed paths, have we not?”

Pleased that she remembered, Loki inclined his head. “By the shore at Tønsberg,” he confirmed.

“Indeed! How perfectly delightful to make your acquaintance properly at last.” She took a step forward. “I heard about the terrible accident that occurred after I left. How does the young man fare?”

“You are kind to inquire,” said Loki. “I received news from his sister on Monday last; though he is still confined to Tønsberg for the time being, he is talking well and even beginning to leave his bed for short periods, and the surgeon is quite confident of his making a full recovery.”

“How fortunate! And how fortunate that you were there. I have heard from friends in Tønsberg that it was your quick thinking and your magical abilities that saved his life.”

“I am told it is considered bad form to boast,” said Loki. “But if others are inclined to boast for me, I will certainly allow it. Especially since it is true.”

On the other side of the room, Frigga rubbed the bridge of her nose in what looked like exasperation, but to everyone’s surprise, Lorelei laughed joyfully, a sound like tinkling crystal. “I appreciate a person who knows their own worth,” said she. “Mr. Odinson, I think I shall like you very well indeed.”

“In that case, you must call me Loki.”

“I shall, if you call me Lorelei. I look forward to discussions with you, Loki, for your mother says that you studied magic at university. I did as well, at the University of Gundersheim, and am always interested in discussing the discipline with clever people. I think you shall fit the bill nicely, from what I have heard of you.”

Loki was not immune to the flattery of having a beautiful young lady admire him, and the smile that crossed his face was warm and genuine. Behind Lorelei, he saw his mother look thoughtfully at him, then at the young lady, then back at him. Perhaps it was not Thor who would be at the receiving end of the countess’s matchmaking this time.

. . . . . .


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through! The end is sort of in sight!
> 
> I am posting this story from the baggage check line at the airport. I hope you appreciate my dedication. And I hope you forgive me for this chapter. :D

. . . . . .

From that point on, Lorelei became a fixed member of their social circle. They invited her when they hosted, and she returned the favor; they traded calls and dinner invitations often; and they brought her along with them to concerts and lectures and assemblies.

Lorelei lived on her own, without a chaperone, an eccentricity overlooked by others because her immense fortune and her connexion to the Duke of Nornheim gave her liberties not available to lesser mortals. Frigga, who despite having chosen Fólkvangr for its liberal social views was herself somewhat old-fashioned and conservative, seemed to enjoy casting herself in the role of chaperone for Lorelei when they were all out together, and Loki suspected that she was protecting the young lady’s reputation for his sake: the sister of a duke with an unsullied reputation and a large fortune could be his salvation, socially and financially, provided her eccentricity didn’t damage her reputation first.

That left one question weighing constantly on his heart: did he want Lady Lorelei Incantare to be his salvation?

The young lady was, without a doubt, interested; both Odin and Frigga had told him privately that they could see which way the wind was blowing and that he could hardly do better for himself than Lorelei, and Thor, seeming quite relieved that his mother was no longer pushing him toward the young lady, said that Loki ought to flirt back if he was interested, for she was certainly flirting with him. And she was, on paper, Loki’s ideal match: beautiful, clever, well-versed in magic, and quite rich.

And yet Loki could not quite bring himself to open his heart to his new acquaintance. He should do it; he needed to do it. Sif Tyrsdottir was all but engaged to another, and the tragic little flame of hope he’d allowed to burn in his heart for the last eight years was flickering and nearly out. The sensible thing to do was to stop waiting and wishing, and instead pay attention to the eligible and available young lady right in front of him.

And yet he could not do it. Not just yet.

In the meantime, however, he was pleased with the friendship; Lorelei was gracious and charming and beautiful, and he very much enjoyed the looks of envy shot his way anytime he went out with her on his arm. She was good company and provided him and Thor with very entertaining conversation at many a boring dinner or card party. And on the occasions that Loki was alone with her, he greatly enjoyed their conversations on magic; she was a clever and talented magician, with a particular talent for potions.

This was especially appreciated because Thor had suddenly started vanishing most mornings -- off for early-morning walks and rides, he claimed, which left Loki alone because he did not wake any earlier than he had to. So Lorelei’s friendship and companionship on these mornings was much appreciated.

And he hoped she did not mind their connexion staying only on the level of friendship until he made up his mind. Some would say that was not fair to her, he supposed, but then he’d never made her any promises, and if she elected to continue socializing with him despite his continually ignoring her flirtations and gentle hints, that was her business, not his.

. . . . . .

And so life in Fólkvangr carried on in a haze of tolerable social events and pleasant enough company. Loki was not entirely unhappy, and while he would have wished to be able to give a more rousing summary of his life than “not entirely unhappy,” things could have been worse. He spent time at the university, renewing his acquaintance with the faculty there and reading up on the latest developments. He attended social events with his family and Lorelei. He visited Sigyn and Theoric often, and found great comfort in those visits -- though for reasons he did not usually care to examine, he did not tell them about Lorelei. He supposed he feared that if he did, Sigyn would ask about Sif, and that was a conversation he was not interested in having, not while he lived in this agony of uncertainty, waiting for the inevitable letter to arrive from Tønsberg or Thryheim with a confirmation of all of his worst fears.

And Loki was just coming to terms with the idea that perhaps this mundane but inoffensive existence was all he could hope to experience for the foreseeable future, when the dreaded letter arrived.

It came from Fandral: just a quick note, to ask Loki’s opinion on where to find the best lodging in Fólkvangr for a visiting group from Thryheim and Tønsberg.

_ We expect to come within a month or so, _ said the letter.  _ Haldor is close to being given a clean bill of health, and Hildegund is keen to take him to the famed tailors of Fólkvangr in order to buy his wedding clothes. _

_ Best, Fandral _

The letter slipped from between his suddenly insensate fingers and floated gently to the floor: such a deceptively calm movement, Loki thought numbly, for something that had just brought his whole world crashing down around him. He stared out the window in his chambers for a long time, unmoving and silent, until the sight of Lorelei making her way down Bridge Street shook him from his death-like reverie.

He knew little at that moment, but he was certain that he was in no state and no mood to keep her company just then. Without further thought, he stuffed the letter in his pocket, put on his boots and his hat, and slipped out his dressing room door and down the back stairway; he reached the door to the back garden just as he heard the butler, faint through the walls, announce the arrival of Lady Lorelei Incantare. With a sigh of relief, he picked his way through the back garden, slipped through the gate, and vanished into the streets of Fólkvangr.

His first destination was Sigyn and Theoric’s home; he was ready to spill all to Sigyn and ask her to speak words of comfort in this moment of absolute and final heartbreak. But the maid of all work who answered the door at their lodgings informed him they were both at the university, and she did not know when they were expected home.

He had no interest in either returning home or walking the streets of Fólkvangr in his current distressed state; he had his pride, and he knew that anyone he met would surely see the anguish he was struggling to hide. So he walked to the university. He called first at the College of Magic library, and then in the faculty offices, but neither Sigyn nor Theoric were to be found.

So he went back outside and had made it halfway around the edge of the cricket lawn that separated the College of Magic from the College of Physics before his legs simply gave out on him and he collapsed on a bench beneath a shady tree. There he sat, fighting to keep his distress from his face, until some destructive urge made him pull the note from his pocket and read it again, as though to maximize his own suffering.

There it was again, in black and white: Haldor required wedding clothes. Fandral gave no explanation, no warning: he simply dropped the news that destroyed all Loki’s peace then bid him farewell. Loki hunched over to rest his elbows on his knees, ignoring decades of training about proper comportment for the son of an earl, and allowed his misery to consume him.

Until a feminine voice startled him from his dark reverie. “Are you all right, sir?”

Loki startled, sitting up quickly to see a young woman watching him, her arms full of books. She was pretty -- brown hair, dark eyes, something elfin about her features -- and he struggled to guess what her role at the university was. She seemed somewhat young to be a professor, but the trousers, boots and waistcoat she wore was an eccentricity excused among female academics but not often seen among female students.

“My apologies if I startled you,” she went on, “and for intruding if you’d like to be left alone. You just seemed so . . . I did not know if you were perhaps unwell. I can fetch a doctor, if you are.”

He mustered up a smile. “I am perfectly well,” he said, then could not help muttering, “in body.”

The young lady’s expression looked knowing. “But not in mind, perhaps? Or in spirit?” Then she winced. “I am being terribly nosy, am I not? It is a terrible habit of mine; I do apologize. Curiosity is a great asset in my field of work, but is less welcome outside the realm of physics.”

“You are a professor?” he asked.

“At the College of Physics,” she confirmed, nodding at the buildings across the cricket lawn. “My research requires observation, so I like to believe I am a good listener, should you need to talk.” He stared, and she winced. “Am I being nosy again?”

Quite against his will, Loki found himself amused with this professor of physics. He opened his mouth to answer her question kindly, and was only somewhat surprised when instead he blurted out, “The woman I love is to marry someone else.”

Immediately the woman was all solicitude and commiseration. “I can see how that would be upsetting indeed,” she said. “Does she know of your feelings?”

“That is the worst of it,” said Loki, dropping forward to rest his elbows on his knees again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the professor take the seat beside him. “We were engaged once, eight years ago. I was persuaded by my family to break off the connexion; they thought her beneath me.” It was surprisingly easy to speak of this; perhaps it was the vulnerable state he suddenly found his heart in, or perhaps it was the kind eyes of the professor. Or perhaps it was the comforting knowledge that she had no idea who he was and that he would never see her again after this. “I had her love, and I threw it away. And now she is lost to me forever.”

“That is grave indeed,” came the soft reply. “My heart goes out to both you and this young lady; undoubtedly you have both been very unhappy in the past.”

Loki rubbed his face with his hands for a moment. “Thank you for listening,” he said. “It was strangely cathartic to say it aloud. I could not bear to speak to my family of it.”

“Understandably so,” said she. “May I give you what paltry advice I have to offer?”

Loki could hardly say no, having heaped his personal problems on this total stranger, so he nodded.

“We cannot change the past,” said she. “Believe me, I have looked into the possibility of time travel, and if that mystery is ever unlocked, it will not be in our lifetime. So with that understanding, do not spend the rest of your days being angry with yourself for choices you made; it is a waste of time and energy. The only thing we can possibly do about the past is try to live better in the present.”

Loki hesitated, then turned to look at the young woman sitting next to him, surprised and smiling. “Very wise, Professor . . . I suppose I do not know your name.”

“Nor I yours,” said she. “As there is no one to introduce us properly, I shall take advantage of the leeway given to us academics to be a bit eccentric, and introduce myself. I am Jane Foster.”

“Jane Foster, of course,” said Loki, looking more closely at her face. “I have heard of your work. Quite groundbreaking, or so I hear. I must admit, I expected someone older -- more established in their career, I mean -- to have made such a name for themselves. If you have accomplished so much so young, I look forward to seeing what the rest of your career holds in store.”

“You are quite charming when you put your mind to it, aren’t you?” Professor Foster asked with a smile. “You remind me very much of a new acquaintance of mine.”

“I have my moments. You may call me Loki.” He gave her no surname, for having shared such an intimate secret with her, he did not want her to spread it around with his full name attached. She did not seem the type to gossip, being most likely too caught up in her studies to bother with such things. But still, one ought to be careful.

“Are you a professor here?” she asked, looking up at the College of Magic’s main hall behind him. “Or a student?”

“Former student. I graduated a little over five years ago.”

“Before I attained my professorship here, then. What brings you back to these hallowed halls?”

“Looking for a friend,” said he. “I was unsuccessful in my search, clearly. But I am pleased to have met you instead.”

“And I you. I must be off to an appointment, but I hope very much to see you again someday.”

Loki was surprised to find he shared that hope.

. . . . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you familiar with the novel might recognize that I have borrowed a story beat from the 2007 movie. I just thought we needed a little melodrama. :D


	11. Chapter 11

. . . . . .

Loki claimed illness for the rest of the day, and for part of the day that followed, unwilling and unable to face a dinner party when his heart was in pieces. But in the afternoon he made a miraculous recovery, knowing that if he continued to claim an illness, his mother would call the doctor eventually.

So he was forced to join the family for the ball they were to attend that night. Truth be told, though, it was not such a terrible outing to go on. It was a private ball, which were often much pleasanter than public assemblies in that they were not so crowded. It was also held on the night of the Fall Feast, which happened each year on the autumnal equinox. In rural villages across Asgard, the night would be celebrated with bonfires and dancing and feasting, and certain elements of the celebration were reflected in the ball that evening: -- the cider and the apple tarts that were served, and the fires lining the drive up to the house.

As Loki had always been fond of the Fall Feast, he was inclined to enjoy the ball; but since Loki had just had his heart broken all over again, he was inclined to be miserable; and on the whole he mostly felt tired and numb. Still, he was pleased to see the fires and taste the cider and remember happy Fall Feasts spent with the denizens of Gladsheim: the one day of the year when the house of Odin socialized with its tenants, in the great meadow on the far side of the church and vicarage.

Lorelei accompanied the family to the ball, but after dancing the first set with her (a response to his mother’s gentle prompting) Loki saw her but little for the first few hours they were in attendance; she was never without a partner, and spent the evening dancing. Thor too was engaged every set, and though Loki was little inclined to dance, he decided it was preferable to sitting with his parents all evening. So he asked every wallflower he saw to dance: if he was not going to find true love that night -- and in his mood, he was certainly not going to -- he might as well give these girls a chance to stand up for a dance. There was something very pleasant in having them gaze at him in gratitude and admiration when he rescued them from their isolation; he did always enjoy being appreciated.

Just before the supper dance, Lorelei made her way to his side.

“Loki, I’m about to be absolutely uncouth. Do you suppose you can forgive me?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “What do you plan to do?”

“I plan to ask you to ask me for the supper dance, for if you do not, the Viscount of Varinheim shall ask me, and going in to supper with him would be insupportable, for I cannot bear to watch him eat. It is like watching pigs with their slop.”

This earned a laugh, and Loki, knowing only too well that Lorelei’s description of the viscount was not exaggerated, was happy to ask her for the dance, despite knowing that dancing with her twice in an evening indicated a level of interest with which he was a little uncomfortable.

The dance was perfectly fine; Lorelei was an exquisite dancer. The supper that followed was perfectly fine; Lorelei was a superlative conversationalist. Indeed, the whole experience was perfectly unobjectionable . . . and no more than that.

Would this pall that Sif had cast over his life never lift?

The supper finished just before midnight, at which point a curious thing occurred: footmen brought out baskets of apples, along with apple peelers. Mrs. Skarde, their hostess for the evening, stepped forward and clasped her hands.

“We had thought to enjoy a rustic tradition for the Fall Feast. Do those of you with country residences recognize what we have up here?”

“Of course!” exclaimed a young lady sitting near her. “It is one of my favorite parts of the holiday!”

“As I understand it,” explained Mrs. Skarde, “young people try to peel an entire apple in one long peel. If they succeed, they throw the peel over their shoulder at midnight, and it will land in the shape of the initials of the person they will marry.”

“What fun!” exclaimed several people in the crowd.

“So, any who would like to participate, come forward!” she bade, and immediately many young people stood from their supper tables.

“That does sound terribly charming and rustic,” said Lorelei to her supper companion. “Shall we join them?”

Her question was innocent enough, but there was a certain flirtatiousness to her tone that gave Loki pause. He was very familiar with the tradition; it had always been part of the festivities at the Fall Feast at Gladsheim -- though their parents had always forbidden them from participating in the midst of all those commoners, considering it beneath the family of an earl -- and he had seen it at Fall Feast celebrations several times at university.

The apple peel tradition was an interesting one, for when a long, thin apple peel is thrown unceremoniously on the floor, one can find in its coils nearly any initial one cares to see. So it rarely produced any surprising results; rather, the thrower would interpret it to mean the person they already wished to marry.

So unattached persons would interpret their apple peels as the initial of the person they already admired, and courting couples would interpret their apple peels as the initial of their partner, and often use it as justification for moving from courting to engagement; indeed, more engagements were settled at the Fall Feast than at any other time of the year.

And with Lorelei looking at him in that coquettish way, Loki suddenly felt quite certain that she was hoping that they would throw their apple peels together, and both find the letter L, and that Loki would finally declare his intention to court her.

And he ought to do it. He knew perfectly well that he ought to want to court Lorelei Incantare; indeed, he wished that he wanted to court her. But try as he might, he could not quite make himself agree to it. Not now, so soon after losing Sif for good.

But neither did he want to offend her, for perhaps some day he could bring himself to give her the affection she so clearly seemed to want. So he employed one of his most valuable talents: he lied.

“It does seem diverting,” he said, doing his best to look a little tired, “but I fear I have been feeling a little unwell all evening, and it has only worsened as the hour has grown late. My mother told you, I believe, that I have been feeling unwell earlier today? I do not think I am as recovered as I thought, and now I have quite overexerted myself; I believe I should return home.”

For the briefest moment, Loki thought he saw something strange on Lorelei’s face: an expression that was very thoughtful and considering, almost calculating. But in an instant it was gone, so fast that he was not certain he had not imagined it.

And now she was all sympathy and solicitude; of course he should return home if he was feeling unwell, she understood completely, did he want her to find his parents and tell them he had left?

“If you see them, please do let them now I have hired a hackney cab to get back to Bridge Street.” He hesitated, feeling suddenly rather ungentlemanly. “I am sorry to abandon you so.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” said she. “But before you go, can I fetch you a cup of cider, to restore your strength for the journey home?”

“I have had so much cider tonight, I do not think I could touch another drop!” he laughed. “But I thank you.” He stood from the table, then gallantly took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “My deepest apologies again, for leaving when we were having such an excellent time together, and abandoning you amidst the likes of the Viscount of Varinheim.”

“Oh, I shall find dance and conversation partners easily enough for the rest of the evening,” said she, all laughter and sweetness. “Do not trouble yourself on my account. I am very resourceful.”

. . . . . .

The following morning found Loki and Frigga alone to receive morning callers; Thor had made his habitual morning disappearance a little later than usual because of their late night at the ball, and had therefore not yet returned, and Odin was at a meeting -- a fact Frigga related in a certain tone of voice that told Loki that the meeting was about a speculation or other potential money-making scheme.

Mother and son sat in the drawing room, both armed with books should no callers make an appearance right away, but they had hardly been reading a moment when she set hers down and looked up at her son.

“Are you all right, dearest?” she asked. “You seem a little cast down.”

Loki debated telling her the truth; she’d have to find out some time, and better for him to be able to control the telling, rather than her hearing it from someone else and assuming that Loki was inconsolable about it.

But before he could, the butler entered the room. “Admiral Heimdall Tyrson to see you, my lady.”

Frigga and Loki exchanged looks of surprise. “I’d no idea of his being in Fólkvangr,” said the countess.

“Nor I,” said her son.

“Well,” said Frigga to the butler, “I suppose we had better receive him.”

Heimdall had elected to wear his full naval uniform that day. It had been many weeks since Loki saw him so attired, and he’d forgotten how much larger it made him seem. And Heimdall was a very large man to begin with.

But, contrary to his appearance, he moved with the utmost grace as he bowed to his hosts and, on Frigga’s invitation, seated himself on the settee and accepted a cup of tea. “How excellent to see you, my lady, and Mr. Odinson,” said he with exquisite politeness. “As your tenant, I thought it my duty to visit you first when I arrived in town, and report that Gladsheim is in excellent condition.”

“How very good of you to come to us,” said Frigga. “What brings you to Fólkvangr?”

“Just a change of scenery, for a few weeks,” said he. “When one is used to life onboard a ship, one grows unaccustomed to spending very long in one place.”

They chatted about the estate and the tenants for some ten minutes, each of which Loki spent on edge, wondering when the admiral would volunteer the information that his sister was engaged. But the subject was never broached, and eventually they were interrupted by the butler again. “Mrs. Sorenson and her daughters to see you, my lady.”

Loki was forced to quickly tamp down the look of dismay that tried to make itself known on his features. But perhaps he had not done as well as he’d thought, for Heimdall glanced at him, and then, with a subtle laugh in his tone, told Frigga that he would excuse himself so that she could give her full attention to her next group of callers. “But I wonder if I might invite Loki to walk with me in the park across the street,” said he. “We became rather good friends, when he stayed with me last month, and I’d enjoy the chance to converse with him more.”

Frigga did not look entirely pleased, but Loki was already setting his book aside and rising quickly from the settee. “I’ll just go grab my things,” said he, and hurried upstairs to get his hat and gloves. This meant, fortunately, that his interaction with Mrs. Sorenson and her daughters was a mere “Good morning, ladies, sorry to miss your visit” on his way out the door.

“Not a fan of the Sorenson ladies?” Heimdall chuckled as they crossed the street to the park.

“They are relentlessly mercenary,” said his companion, “and constantly on the prowl for a wealthy husband. Most of them have their sights set on Thor, but two of them have singled me out.” He hesitated, then said dryly, “I think they cannot have heard just how insolvent the house of Odin is at this moment.”

“Or they are confident that your fortunes will improve in time, and are patient enough to play a long game.”

“True,” said Loki with a sigh, tossing aside half-formed plans about how to slip references to his family’s reduced financial situation into the next conversation he had with the Misses Sorenson. “So, tell me, how is the ward holding up?”

They spoke easily and comfortably of the house and the lands for a few minutes, and then the conversation turned to the neighborhood at large: the Ironsides’ recent ball, Mr. Thrud’s latest horse purchase, the family at Thryheim . . .

“This has all been a surprising business,” said Heimdall. “I mean, what’s happened at Tønsberg.”

Here was the topic that Loki had been hoping to avoid. “Surprising?” he repeated, wondering how little attention Heimdall had been paying if he were surprised by the engagement.

“Indeed,” said Heimdall, his hands behind his back as he walked, looking every inch the regal and commanding admiral he was. “With Haldor. Have you not heard? I hear he and my sister courted week after week.”

“They did.” Loki was hard pressed to keep the resignation out of his voice.

“And now the situation has taken the strangest turn of all: Haldor is to marry Captain Stormrider.”

For the second time in three days, Loki was rendered insensate by an unexpected piece of news. “Haldor -- is to marry -- Captain Stormrider?” he managed to force past his lips, reflecting that such shocks to the system, occurring so often, could not be healthy. “Captain  Kelda Stormrider?”

“The very one,” said Heimdall. “You had not heard, I take it?”

“Not precisely,” said Loki faintly, his mind whirling. That was the engagement Fandral spoken of: not Haldor to Sif, but Haldor to Kelda. And then his (relieved and grateful and amazed) mind seized on the identity of the fiancée. “Kelda?” he repeated. “Kelda Stormrider? I confess I can hardly credit it. Their minds are so dissimilar.”

“How so?” asked Heimdall; there was perhaps a hint of amusement in his voice.

Loki did not trust himself to make eye contact with the admiral, and so did not turn his direction. “Kelda is so serious and thoughtful and somber. And Haldor is so . . . lively,” he finished awkwardly, being prevented by good manners from saying precisely what he thought of the man.

“Yes, but recall, she was his nurse many weeks while he recovered. And he, having been so very shaken by his recent brush with death, may have been in an . . . interesting mood.”

“Yes, of course!” Loki said, his mind slowly beginning to work again. “They fell in love while she nursed him. Still, such an unexpected couple!”

“Indeed,” said Heimdall.

Only this recent release of tension and restoration of hope could compel Loki to force out his next question. “Is Sif very much disappointed?”

“Not at all! Her letter acquainting me with the news was sanguine: -- there’s barely an oath in it from beginning to end. You would not think, from her way of writing, that she had ever thought about this young man for herself at all.”

“Oh,” said Loki weakly.

Heimdall shook his head. “So poor Sif shall have to begin again with somebody else.”

. . . . . .


	12. Chapter 12

. . . . . .

Shortly after this remarkable interview, Loki found himself one afternoon in Milsom Street with Thor and Lorelei. The lady had descended on the house and expressed a wish for marzipan and hot chocolate at Gunder’s, and the young men had easily agreed, Loki reflecting how glad he was that his inability to commit to a courtship with the young lady had not soured their friendship.

They quickly found themselves in the sweets shop on Milson Street. Lorelei was a great devotee of their hot chocolate, and pressed Loki some two or three times to try it, offering each time to fetch and pay for his cup herself, so convinced was she that he would love the treat, if only he tried it.

But Loki was not in the mood for it, and settled instead for the marzipan he had purchased. When they had finished their treats, Thor took out his pocket watch, then proclaimed that he must soon be off, for he had plans elsewhere.

“What were those plans?” was the obvious follow-up to the question, and neither Loki nor Lorelei could quite hide their shock when the answer was a public lecture being presented at the university. Thor was not the intellectual or academic type, having barely passed his courses at the University of Rivvak, which was well known for having the least rigorous courses of study imaginable.

But, incredible as it seemed, the dashing Viscount Mjolnir was quite in earnest. Loki would have had more questions about this, if not for his being suddenly quite distracted by glancing out the window and seeing Sif Tyrsdottir walk by, resplendent in her naval uniform.

For a few moments Loki was quite overset, and it required an exertion of will to remain outwardly calm.

When Thor rose from the table, bidding them farewell and going out to procure a hackney cab for himself, Loki followed him outside, simply because he had a question about a topic they had been discussing. That was the only reason, truly, for Captain Tyrsdottir was no doubt out of sight by then.

So he told himself as Thor’s hackney cab rolled out of sight. And he half believed it, meaning he was genuinely startled when Sif suddenly stepped out of a nearby shop and, seeing him, stopped on the sidewalk and stared in surprise.

She was more obviously struck and confused by the sight of him than he had ever observed before; she looked quite red. It was the first time since her return to Ringsfjord that he had been the calm one, and she the flustered one; it was only because he’d had time to prepare himself to see her, but still, he had to admit he enjoyed seeing her just a little overset because of his presence.

His outward serenity did not mean he felt nothing, however: it was agitation, pain, pleasure, a something between delight and misery.

“Loki,” said she, her voice harsh with surprise, and then a little softer: “Mr. Odinson.”

Did she prefer they remain on formal terms? “Captain Tyrsdottir. What brings you to Fólkvangr?”

She hesitated. “Heimdall is here,” she said finally. “I thought I would come stay with him. Besides, I have heard so often of the great joys of visiting Fólkvangr.” Another hesitation. “You enjoyed your first year at university here quite a bit, as I recall,” she said. “Are you still pleased with the city?”

This was a question he could not possibly answer honestly. He could not tell her that he had enjoyed his final three years at university far less than his first, because he had pined for her all the time. And he could not say that his last experience with the city had been hiding away from the world in Sigyn and Theoric’s guest room for two months, having learned that he was secretly adopted from the kingdom with whom Asgard had been at war on and off for centuries. So he simply said that he enjoyed having a change of scenery from Gladsheim, and changed the subject. “How long do you stay in Fólkvangr?”

“I do not know,” said she. “That is, I have not decided.”

Loki was fully sensible of her being less at ease than formerly. After spending so many weeks together at Thryheim and Tønsberg, they had found a sort of equilibrium, and had been able to speak to each other with a considerable portion of apparent indifference and calmness; but she could not do it now. Something had changed between them, and he hardly knew what.

He thought that perhaps she would now excuse herself, having made what polite small talk good manners required, but she stayed planted just where she was. “And how is Thor?”

“Very well. You have just missed him. He has gone, if you can believe it, to a lecture at the university.”

“Thor?” she repeated, all amazement. “Your brother Thor? To a lecture? Voluntarily?”

“I am as astounded as you,” he assured her with a smile. “I can only assume there will be excellent refreshments served.”

She gave a most unladylike snort at this, a sound which Loki had never ceased to find adorable. “Well, I must come to call on your family soon,” said she. “I have been longing to renew my acquaintance with Thor. And I shall be glad to see your mother again.”

She said nothing of seeing Odin again. In this, Loki thought there could be no blame laid at her door.

“We would be happy to receive you.”

Sif hesitated, and then she took a step nearer him. “Loki,” she began, and in that moment the bell over the shop door jingled behind him.

“Loki!”

It was, of course, Lorelei, and Loki felt a brief moment of shame that he had entirely forgotten that she waited in the shop for him. Fighting back a wince that was trying, for several reasons, to make itself known on his face, he turned back. “Lorelei,” he said, “Thor has gotten off safely to his lecture. And I have run into an old friend. May I make known to you Captain Sif Tyrsdottir, of the Royal Navy? Sif, this is Lady Lorelei Incantare.”

Lorelei dropped an exquisitely polite curtsy to Sif; Captain Tyrsdottir, because she wore her naval uniform, gave a short military bow in response.

“I do hate to interrupt your reunion,” said Lorelei, coming forward to take his arm, “but your mother is expecting us back on Bridge Street soon.”

“Of course,” said he, suddenly embarrassed.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Tyrsdottir,” said Lorelei.

“Captain Tyrsdottir.” Sif’s tone was light and airy as she corrected the young lady, but her tense posture belied her calm voice.

“My apologies, _ Captain _Tyrsdottir. Perhaps I shall see you around Fólkvangr?” She waved farewell and maneuvered Loki away; he had time only to call “A good afternoon to you!” to Sif and to give her a gently embarrassed glance before they were out of sight.

He would have been much obliged to Lorelei if she had made the walk in silence, for he had a great deal to consider, the chief concern being: was Sif hurt over Haldor’s defection, or was she not? Heimdall had noticed no anger in her, and nor had Loki, but she was very talented at holding her feelings in, when required. He also wanted to think over the meeting again; Sif had been ill at ease, to be certain, but she had also talked to him more than she had in months. What could it mean?

But Lorelei would continue talking, about the dinner party they were to attend that night, about the improbability of Thor attending a lecture, about how kind Frigga was to so often invite her out with the family. He could not help thinking how much he would have preferred to walk about Fólkvangr with Sif on his arm instead.

. . . . . .

The following morning found Loki out walking through the park with his father; Frigga insisted that the earl walk daily, for his health and strength, and occasionally prevailed upon Loki to accompany him.

They had little of substance to discuss on these outings, but Loki had landed upon a reliable source of conversation a few weeks previous: the history of the city in which they now lived. He was considered the family expert on Fólkvangr, and he could keep his father quite entertained for hours with stories he had learned in his time at university: which archbishop had been raised in the house at the corner of the park, and which peasant rebellion had begun at the standing stone under the great oak, and how the first Duke of Jolena had been born, quite accidentally, at the Horse and Holly on Gungnir Street after his mother had been out traveling long after she should have been confined at home.

The story he told now, of the ill-fated marriage between the previous mayor of Fólkvangr and the daughter of a greengrocer, kept the earl quite entertained for much of the walk, and distracted Loki as well. So he was a little startled when they reached the far end of the park, and he looked across the street and saw Sif there, purchasing a newspaper from a young lad in a cap.

For a moment Loki’s voice caught in his throat, breaking the flow of his story. What would Odin say when he saw her? Would he recognize her? Would he remember how he had ruined his son’s life when he got it into his head that the daughter of a curate was beneath the house of Odin? Would he make a scene? Give her the cut direct?

In the end, the earl did none of these things. In the end he looked across the street and said nothing, and Sif, not noticing the two men standing at the edge of the park, took her newspaper and walked away.

After a moment, Odin turned to his son. “Who do we know who has a carriage like that?”

Loki blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have been staring at that white carriage for some time, trying to remember why it looks so familiar. Do we know someone who owns a carriage like that?”

“Mr. Thrud has a nearly identical one,” said Loki weakly.

“That’s it!” Odin agreed. “That’s the one.”

And Loki nearly laughed. All this while he had been so distressed about how his father might react to seeing Sif, and the earl had been too busy looking at a carriage to notice her.

After this near-meeting, a few days passed without producing any hint of Sif Tyrsdottir at all; perhaps she had been unable to obtain the family’s address, so that she could call on them. Or perhaps she had never intended to call, and had only said so to be polite.

And they never met her in the evening. Loki knew well that her interests would steer her toward public assemblies and the theater, both of which were considered common by Odin. His family spent much of their time these days in the elegant stupidity of private parties, to which they were increasingly invited, much to his parents’ delight. Loki chafed, and fought back his irritation, and looked forward to the magical demonstration that should be held the following Friday. A number of local magicians had been asked to perform illusions or other interesting spells for an admiring audience, and Loki had been invited to be one of the number. As the host was a vice-admiral of the Royal Navy, Loki had high hopes of Sif being invited, and of his being able to find time to speak with her. He hardly knew what he would say to her, but there was a curiosity in him that must satiated: he needed to know how she would receive him. For in their last meeting, she had been so open, so familiar; for a moment it was as though nothing negative had ever transpired between them.

In the meantime, he began subtly avoiding Lorelei, who had been strangely solicitous for his welfare ever since that ball he’d gone home early from; she was always hovering about him, plying him with various foods and drinks she said would be good for him as he recovered from his illness.

And he could not allow it. Seeing Sif again, knowing that Sif was not to be married to Haldor, had made clear to him that he was a fool to have ever thought that he could prefer Lorelei over his first love. She was beautiful, but that was all; she stirred no deeper affection in his heart.

And he would never stop being grateful for whatever part of his too-sentimental heart had pressed him to refuse Lorelei when she wanted to throw apple peels together. He otherwise might now be forced to court her because of his unguarded participation in a silly romantic game.

Of course, he did not know whether he could bring himself to ask Sif if he could court _ her; _ all his old objections remained: -- the scandal attached to the family, the dark secret of his birth, his fear that her affection for him was too long dead to be revived. But he knew now, without a doubt, that if he courted anyone, it be Sif, and not Lorelei.

. . . . . .


	13. Chapter 13

. . . . . .

The magical demonstration on Friday appeared to be poised to answer all of Loki’s expectations, as everyone he spoke to was certain the demonstrations would be excellent, and as Sif arrived not long after his party.

They were all standing in the vice-admiral’s drawing room when she entered, dressed in an exquisite evening gown of maroon and silver that shimmered under the candle lights. Even when she was not in her crisp naval uniform, she stood out from the crowd. “Sif,” said Loki, stepping forward as she came near them, and then: “Captain Tyrsdottir, I mean.”

Sif hesitated, then smiled. “We have known each other long enough to be on more familiar terms, I think. Loki.”

He smiled. “Sif.” Then, remembering his manners, he turned back to where his parents stood, their manner stiff and uncomfortable. “You remember, of course, my mother and father. I fear Thor is unwell, and could not join us this evening.” Lorelei was also part of his party, but she was at the moment some distance away, speaking to an acquaintance.

“Of course,” said Sif, her manner grave. Still, her curtsy was all that was polite and correct. “My lord, my lady.”

“Miss -- no, my apologies, _ Captain _ Tyrsdottir,” said Frigga with an answering curtsy, for though the sight of the woman she’d once had a part in treating so infamously had clearly disturbed her composure, she was, at all times, every inch the countess. “How lovely to see you again! And how you’ve grown!”

“Thank you,” said Sif, with a small inclination of her head.

Even Odin roused himself to greet her kindly, no doubt recalling what was owed to Sif as his former neighbor and daughter of his former curate. “And how does your father do in Gymirsgard?”

“He is most pleased with his new position,” said she. “He finds it pleasant to be vicar in his own right, not merely a curate. And though he of course looks back fondly on his time at Gladsheim, he has had great fortune in his new patron, who he finds to be most supportive and kind.”

Loki wondered if her words were the subtlest slight to the earl and countess, a quiet reminder that Odin had once callously informed Tyr that he would have him removed from his position as curate if he did not force his daughter to renounce Loki. Loki had long wondered whether some of Tyr’s haste to accept the living in Gymirsgard stemmed from that unpleasant confrontation. Odin’s placid expression, though, said that the barb had not found its mark in him. The earl was probably sufficiently accustomed to using his wealth and influence to get his way that he scarcely even remembered the incident.

Whether the countess felt the hidden meaning was impossible to say, for her mask of politeness was nearly impenetrable. “Well, tell him hello for us, and your dear mother,” said she, all kindness and solicitude, and turned away to greet another acquaintance. Odin joined her, and Loki and Sif were left quite alone.

“I am pleased you have come,” said Loki. “But I am so sorry that you have missed Thor. You two really must catch up. He was quite delighted to hear you are in Fólkvangr; he would have called on you already, but we do not have Heimdall’s address.”

“I shall be glad to provide my direction. I do long to see Thor again.” She took a step forward. “And I am pleased to see you as well. Other than that brief meeting the other day, I have not had a chance to speak to you since that terrible accident at Tønsberg.”

“Indeed, I have hardly seen anyone from that set in weeks,” he agreed. “Although your brother called on us a few days previous.”

“I heard.” She took another step toward him. “I suppose you have heard, then, about Haldor and Kelda?”

“Indeed, and I could not have been more shocked. I had absolutely no idea of there being any inclination there, on either side.”

Sif laughed a little. “I suppose that when you sent Kelda to fetch the surgeon, and the surgeon pressed her into service as a nurse, you had little idea of what would result.”

“Indeed no. But I’m sure I wish them very happy.”

To Loki’s dismay, Sif’s expression fell somewhat, and he feared that he had finally had confirmation that she was much cast down by Haldor’s defection. So his surprise was great when she said, “As do I. However . . . I knew Kelda’s betrothed William before his death. Haldor is a very good sort of young man, but William was superior in every way -- intelligent and thoughtful and self-possessed -- and Kelda was devoted to him. To see her forget him so quickly . . . a woman does not recover from such a devotion to such a man. She ought not. She does not.”

Loki’s normally glib tongue failed him, so astonished was he by this speech. He understood now what Heimdall had meant when he said that from Sif’s mode of speech, it seemed she’d never thought of Haldor for herself at all. Scarcely knowing how to respond, he changed the subject somewhat, asking her if she’d enjoyed her stay at Tønsberg.

“Yes, while I was there,” said she. “There are some very fine paths in the countryside roundabout, and it is always good to see my old friends.”

“I should like to see it again,” said Loki. “I grew quite fond of the place.”

“Even with such a painful ending to your sojourn there?”

Loki hesitated. “I have learned over the years that sometimes when the pain of a great tragedy has passed, there is still beauty to be found in the places it has vacated.”

“A lovely sentiment,” murmured Sif, examining him thoughtfully. And then, “I cannot tell you how relieved I was that you were not injured in your rescue efforts. I would not have been glad to trade Haldor’s life for yours.”

“Nor I,” said he. “I do not believe I am selfless enough for that.”

“Nor I,” said she.

A smile touched the corners of his lips. “You risk your life every day you are at sea, to keep us safe from our enemies. I think you are selfless indeed.”

“Oh, I am,” she said frankly, “with my own life. I mean that I do not know that I am sufficiently selfless to risk your life for another’s.”

It was the most affectionate thing Sif had said to him in eight years, and it set his pulse to racing. Her next words quite destroyed his ecstatic mood, though: “I am still astounded that you received no harm from touching that sword. It nearly killed Haldor.”

He forced himself to sound blithe. “Perhaps I am strong enough to wield it, as the keeper of the collection said.”

She chuckled. “Loki, you are many things, but the strongest of Asgardians is not one of them.” She hesitated, peered at him, appeared to choose her words carefully. “It all seems quite impossible, does it not? You are certain you have no explanation for your being able to touch the sword?”

To answer calmly required Loki to call on all his stores of self-control and all his powers of deception. “I believe I was just astonishingly lucky.”

It came as quite a relief when the beginning of the evening was announced just then, and Loki was spared any more questions along this line of inquiry. Still, it was a pity that he did not end up sitting near her; once they reached the ballroom, his party took up an entire row of chairs, and Sif ended up toward the back of the room with a few acquaintances.

Lorelei, as was her usual way, sat beside Loki with a glass of champagne, pressing him to drink some. He refused, however, wanting to keep a clear head for his demonstration. She seemed a little disappointed, but set the glass down in favor of leaning in close and winding her arm through his, a movement he cared little for but tolerated for the sake of not making a scene.

Five young magicians went first, all university students or younger, all doing simple illusions that earned polite applause. Lorelei was full of questions, leaning in close to ask whether these were common spells taught at the University of Fólkvangr and what he might do to improve upon their execution. Again, Loki responded only for the sake of not making a scene.

After those magicians there was an interval, and Loki’s entire party got up to mingle and to get refreshments. Loki stayed where he was to prepare himself mentally for his demonstration -- his slot was coming up soon -- and was rewarded for this when Sif approached him. She asked him his thoughts on the program so far, and offered her own, and they spoke easily on benign topics until the rest of the audience began to return to their seats. Loki wished for nothing more than for a seat to open up that he could offer her, but no such miracle occurred. Still, she had sought out his company twice tonight, and had much more conversation with him than the paltry small talk dictated by good manners, and Loki found himself feeling more hope than he had in the past eight years.

With that buoying him up, is it any wonder that his demonstration was a wild success? He performed an illusion he had designed himself a few years back, a recreation of the famous Battle of Hundith where King Laufey had surrendered to Asgardian forces some twenty-seven or eight years previous. He had designed it not long after learning of his Jotun heritage, in a strange fit of self-disgust and self-flagellation. This made it an odd choice to display now, but the fact was that it was the most detailed and impressive illusion he had ever created, and he wanted to impress.

And impress he did. The illusion was incredibly detailed: dozens of Jotun officers on one side of him, and on the other, officers of the Eighty-Fifth Federation, representing people from all over the Nine Realms. He had sought out paintings of participating parties where possible, and recreated their faces in the illusion. King Laufey, the only Jotun for whom he’d been able to obtain an accurate painting, loomed large and menacing. Rocks and ice covered the floor of the ballroom, causing several audience members to reach down and touch it, exclaiming in wonder when their fingers came away cold and wet. Even the weather conditions had been carefully recreated: the illusion included cold, wet weather and a stiff breeze.

The entire audience gasped and murmured throughout the signing of the treaty and the retreat of the Jotun forces, and when it was finished the applause went on for some time. The greatest reward for his work, though, was the genuine pride and amazement in Sif’s face as she watched him from the back of the room.

His demonstration was followed by another interval, and Loki found himself mobbed by admirers. Their praise, normally something he quite basked in, felt stifling, for in that moment he wanted nothing more than to speak to Sif. The path to her being blocked by the throng, he had to settle for catching her eye across the room.

A delicate hand wound its way around his elbow, and he looked down to see Lorelei beaming at him. “What an extraordinary talent you are, Loki! I declare I have never seen such a complex illusion from a solitary caster before. I do admire you, more than I can say.”

“Well, I have always been good at illusions,” said he, and shifted subtly away from her, which only caused her to press even closer to him. He saw many people in the crowd smile knowingly, inferring from her prattle and proximity a closeness that did not exist. He saw Frigga and Odin smile approvingly, and he heard someone across the way remark to their companion what a handsome couple they made.

This was not at all what Loki wanted, and he quickly extracted his arm from her grasp, suddenly not remotely concerned about causing a scene. “What a kind friend you are,” said he, hoping the word “friend” would convey to the gathered crowd the truth of their relationship. “And now, if you will excuse me, I see someone I must speak to.”

Without waiting for a response, he plunged into the crowd, heading off in the direction in which he last saw Sif. But she was no longer there, and he had to look about for a moment before he caught sight of her maroon dress just disappearing through a doorway. Without thinking, he hurried toward her.

“Sif!” he declared, out of breath, when he caught up to her in the hallway outside the ballroom. “Are you leaving already?”

Her expression was set and serious. She was tall among women, and her stature, combined with her gown, combined with her expression, made her look quite regal in that moment. “I find the evening is not to my liking,” said she. Her expression softened just a little as she added, “Present company excluded. Your illusion was extraordinary, Loki.”

“I am not the best magician on the program,” he said desperately, keen for her not to leave. “The next magician to perform is a true master, one of the best in the kingdom. Is that not worth staying for?”

Sif hesitated, until a voice down the hallway called his name. “Loki! Where have you gotten to? The program is about to start again.”

It was Lorelei’s voice, and Loki saw Sif recognize it, and stiffen. “There is nothing worth my staying for,” she said in clipped tones, and made her exit in a swirl of maroon.

Loki could only stand and watch in astonishment as she left. Was Sif jealous of Lorelei? Could Sif truly retain some of her old affection for him?

It had been eight years since Loki had felt such a rush of hope.

. . . . . .


	14. Chapter 14

. . . . . .

Never before Loki been so sorry about his Jotun heritage. Were he what he seemed to be -- were he an Asgardian by birth -- he would already have called on Sif, desperate to see if he was right about her feelings for him.

But his Jotun birth gave him pause. Were he and Sif to marry, they would never be able to have children together; all the biological studies of the Nine Realms agreed that only the Aesir and Vanir could interbreed. During their brief engagement eight years previous, Sif had expressed interest in having children, so he hardly felt that he could ask for her hand now without at least warning her of what she was getting into.

And even had children not been a concern, he would not and could not marry her with such a secret hanging over their heads. She deserved to know what she was marrying. But he feared her response too much to tell her.

For surely she would recoil from him, if she knew what he was. Sif was loyal to Asgard, through and through; when they played together as children, always Jotuns were the villains of their stories, and now that she was grown, she dispatched Jotuns for king and country on a daily basis. She had killed hundreds of them, and watched them kill hundreds of her friends and countrymen. When his doubts crept in, he imagined that the best response he could hope for was that she would keep his secret, for the sake of their old friendship, but refuse ever to speak to him again.

In his darkest moments, an even more alarming possibility occurred to him: that a sense of patriotic duty would compel her to report the presence of a Jotun on Asgardian shores to the authorities, for those few Jotuns who came to Asgard were supposed to report their presence to the government so they could be monitored. For him to be in Asgard unreported might be considered a crime.

In his heart he did not believe Sif capable of reporting him to the government, but they had been young, the last time they were close, and that was a long time ago. He did not know her quite so well as once he did; he did not know how she might have changed. Either way, he did not want to put either of them into such a position.

But neither did he want to ignore the fact that the woman he thought of every waking moment might just be within his reach. Maybe she would not mind his heritage. Maybe, if she truly cared for him, her affection would override her objections to his birth. But it had felt like such a miracle when he learned, at eighteen, that his beautiful, fierce, extraordinary friend loved him, and not his brother; two such miracles in one lifetime felt like more than a mere mortal could hope for.

Three days passed after the magic demonstration, three days that Loki spent trying subtly to discourage Lorelei’s attentions and his parents’ hopes. If Lady Lorelei did not get the hint soon, he would be forced to expand his efforts to unsubtle discouragement. Thor was constantly busy, half the time with errands he would tell his family nothing of, and was unable to call on Sif as he’d hoped to do, but he remained insistent that when he had time, he would call on her as soon as possible.

Three nights after the magical demonstration was a public assembly, which Thor insisted they attend. The family had not attended a public assembly for some time, for as their popularity grew in Fólkvangr, their evenings were increasingly filled with invitations to private events. Thor was quite firm in his insistence upon attending this one, however, and Loki understood the sentiment; public assemblies were so much more crowded, and could sometimes get a little wild, but the people were often far more interesting than at private balls.

Once they arrived at the assembly rooms, the group quickly split up: the earl and countess began to mingle among those attendees who matched their lofty requirements for good company; Lorelei was immediately snatched up for a dance by an ardent admirer; and Thor disappeared almost immediately upon arrival. This left Loki quite alone, and he divided his time between the card room, making insipid small talk with people who were friends of his parents, and dancing with young ladies who had been ignored by other young men.

Several times he saw Thor across the room, dancing or talking with a variety of young people. At one point he was amused to look at his brother and see him gazing at his dance partner as though thoroughly smitten with her. Thor admired all women, and was constantly flirting with some young lady or other, only to lose interest in a matter or days or hours. Loki wondered what young lady had captured Thor’s interest at the moment, and hoped she would proceed with caution; despite Thor’s assertion that he was ready to settle down, Loki knew his brother, and knew that for all his flirtations, the handsome Viscount Mjolnir had never truly fallen in love. But the crowd was grouped in such a way that Loki could not see who it was that his brother danced with.

He also kept his eye out for two other attendees that evening. The first was Lorelei, for he was making certain not to be anywhere near her when a dance was finished, out of fear that if he were, she would attempt to convince him to ask her to dance.

The second was Sif, for he both longed and feared to see her. He feared that he was wrong, and she did not care for him. He feared that he was right, and she did.

This indecision wracked him until Captain Tyrsdottir arrived at the assembly, some time after ten o’ clock, regal and commanding in her naval uniform. Their eyes met across the dancing couples, and he knew himself to be the most selfish creature in the world. For it would be in Sif’s best interest if she did not care for him; to love a monster such as he could only bring her pain. And yet, in that moment, he wanted nothing more than for her to run to his side and confess that she loved him as he did her.

She did not run to his side. She disappeared into the crowd, and Loki was left feeling alone and hollow for a long few minutes before he found a young uniformed sailor at his side.

“Pardon the presumption,” said the young man with a quick bow, “but I have been sent to ask if you will please follow me.”

Loki blinked in surprise. “A bit presumptuous, I suppose,” he agreed. “As I do not know you.”

“No indeed,” said the young man cheerfully. “But I fear my captain more than I fear your disapproval.”

It took all Loki’s abilities to avoid letting his surprised pleasure show on his face, for it could only be Sif who had sent for him. “Well, I suppose I had better come with you,” he acquiesced, and followed the sailor across the room, nodding at his parents as he passed them.

The sailor led him to a small alcove in a hallway, a place secluded enough for a private conversation but public enough to avoid compromising either of their reputations. The sight that greeted him put an immediate damper on his hopeful good humor, for though it was indeed Sif who waited for him, her expression was as grave as Loki had ever seen it, and she seemed quite ill at ease.

“Mr. Odinson,” she said formally, and nodded at the sailor to dismiss him, leaving Loki wondering if her formal style of address was an attempt to keep the sailor from leaping to assumptions, or whether she was unhappy with him.

The sailor bowed and left, and Loki and Sif were, for the moment, alone. “I have a question to ask you,” said she, and Loki’s heart leapt until her frown deepened. “No doubt you shall think me entirely impertinent, but I have a commission from my admiral.” Perhaps this was why she had elected to wear her naval uniform to an assembly.

Loki hardly knew how to respond to this extraordinary beginning. “From Heimdall?”

Sif nodded, her mouth set in a thin line. “Heimdall has heard that . . .” She hesitated, then began again, speaking quickly, as though to get a distasteful task over with sooner. “He is aware that everything is set for a marriage between you and Lady Lorelei Incantare. It occurs to him that once you are married, you might like to return to your ancestral home. He has commissioned me to inform you that if it is your wish, he will vacate Gladsheim with all haste to allow you to bring your bride home. There, I have discharged my duty, audacious as it is.”

A moment was required for Loki to find his voice, so astonished was he. “You will please thank the admiral for his solicitude,” he began, but Sif silenced him with a look.

“Please,” she said lowly. “Yes or no. One word from you and we are both released.”

Loki felt an unpleasant jolt somewhere in his stomach. “Is this a widespread rumor?” he demanded, suddenly embarrassed, and Sif’s mask of grim duty faltered.

“I have heard it several times,” she confessed.

Unfortunate indeed. “There is no understanding between us,” he began, and Sif blinked in surprise. Before either could say anything else, though, a voice spoke his name.

“Loki!” declared his mother, “where have you been? Lorelei has been looking for you everywhere!”

Loki saw his own wince mirrored on Sif’s face as they turned to see the earl and countess striding elegantly toward them. “Oh!” said Frigga in surprise and discomfort, “and Sif. We did not see you there.”

Long practice enabled Loki to keep his expression still. “What did you need from me, Mother?”

“Your father feels unwell,” said she, gesturing at the earl who was currently trying hard to not make it obvious that he was avoiding looking at Sif. “We had thought to leave. Your brother and Lorelei would like to stay, and if you do as well, we would ask that you help Thor ensure that Lorelei makes it home safely.” And then she smiled. “And Lorelei says she has not had a dance with you all evening! It is quite an oversight, dear, given how dear she has become to us.” 

Her tone of voice and her glance at Sif, along with Odin’s added declaration that Lorelei was a most lovely young lady, made clear what Loki’s parents were truly thinking: there was a suitable match for their son at this assembly, and it was not the sailor who stood before them.

Sif felt the slight too, clearly, for her expression darkened. “I should go,” she said with a military bow to each of them. “Good evening to you all.”

Her boots echoed through the hall as she made her rapid exit, and Loki whirled on his parents with anger in her eyes. “Sif Tyrsdottir was our neighbor for eighteen years,” he reminded them sharply. “No matter what you wish where Lorelei is concerned, there is no call for such coldness toward her.”

If he’d hoped to provoke some shame in his father, he was quite disappointed. “We were perfectly polite to her,” said the earl dismissively. “I’m going to go have our carriage brought around.”

When he was out of earshot, Frigga turned to look at her son with concern in her expression. “You are . . . very protective of Miss Tyrsdottir,” she said.

“Captain Tyrsdottir.”

“Fine, yes, Captain Tyrsdottir.” One hand came to clasp Loki’s arm in a motherly gesture of concern. “Loki, you know your father’s opinions on rank and birth. And you know the conditions of your inheritance.”

Loki stiffened. “Yes, I know.”

“I do not want to see you unhappy. And I do not wish to see you throw away what is your due as the son of an earl. Do you understand?”

For a long moment, Loki was silent, and it was only his deep affection for his beloved mother that allowed him to answer simply, “I understand, Mother.”

The countess smiled and patted his cheek. “Will you stay, then, with Thor and Lorelei?”

He nodded, for he did not trust himself to keep a civil tongue in his head if enclosed in a carriage with his parents for any length of time. And when he re-entered the main room, he ignored Lorelei’s questioning look and set out to search for Sif.

Unfortunately, his search was fruitless; she had already left. And Loki, suddenly desperate for someone to talk to, set out to find Thor instead.

But his brother was dancing that set with one of their neighbors from Bridge Street, and after a few minutes of agitated pacing, Loki realized there was no one else in the entire assembly he felt he could truly speak to.

So he went to a gentleman he knew to be a friend of Thor’s and asked him to pass along the message that Loki had found his own way home, and then he went outside and caught a hackney cab to take him back to Bridge Street, and he snuck in without catching the attention of his parents, and he went to sleep in the beautiful home that housed his family, feeling utterly desolate and alone.

. . . . . .

The next morning Loki went on a long walk, beginning early in the morning to avoid having to break his fast with his parents. When he returned, around the noon hour, he found Lorelei calling on his mother, and quickly invented an excuse to be out of the house.

Desperate to speak with someone, he made his way to the university library.

“Loki!” exclaimed Sigyn in surprise when he tracked her down at the magic reference desk. “What brings you here?”

“I had to speak to someone,” he said desperately. “I know you’re at work, but . . . I’m sorry to disturb you, but . . .”

“You’re never sorry to disturb anyone,” grumbled Sigyn good-naturedly. “Well, you’d best come sit and tell me what’s on your mind.” She gestured at a bench along a nearby wall, and sat herself on it. Loki sat beside her, and he started at the beginning: about Sif coming back into his life, about Haldor and Tønsberg, about Sif coming to Fólkvangr.

But his expectations of a sympathetic ear and kindly advice were dashed the moment he began to tell of his new acquaintance, Lorelei.

On hearing the name, Sigyn suddenly became tense. “Lady Lorelei Incantare?” she clarified. “Magician? Sister of the duke of Nornheim?”

“You know her?”

“I do,” said Sigyn. “You have . . . become acquainted with her?”

“My family has befriended her,” said Loki, with great surprise at his friend’s odd reaction. “She joins us for most of our social outings, and is often at the house.”

Sigyn’s demeanor gave the impression of a great number of words that were being held back. “You never mentioned her before.”

Loki sighed. “I feared that mentioning her would require me to speak of Sif, which I did not wish to do.”

Sigyn stood from the bench. “Because you and Lorelei are . . . courting?”

“No,” said Loki definitively. “But she has often given off the impression that she would be pleased if we were.”

Sigyn’s brow furrowed deeply at this.

“Is that so astonishing?” Loki said, a little hurt at his friend’s disbelief. “That a beautiful young lady would form an attachment to me?”

“No!” said Sigyn quickly. “I simply . . .” She suddenly seemed agitated. “I simply have to get back to work. But . . . Loki, please don’t . . . rush into anything.”

This made little sense to Loki, but he could tell when he was being dismissed. “Well, I’ll allow you to get back to what you were doing.”

Sigyn nodded, still agitated. “And . . . I have a feeling I’ll be in touch soon.”

. . . . . .

This was not the only peculiar occurrence of the day. That evening was a rare night in for the house of Odin: a simple family dinner with Lorelei, as a response to Odin’s cold. With such a small group, the gentlemen did not separate from the ladies after the meal to drink port; instead the group repaired to the sitting room for conversation and coffee.

Thor and his parents were gathered on the sofas, speaking idly together, and Loki had gone to the fireplace to warm himself; the autumn was coming on in earnest, and the fire in the grate was very welcome.

Lorelei approached him then to offer him coffee. “Thank you, but I do not require a drink,” said he.

Lorelei smiled sweetly. “But you must be chilly, mustn’t you? I saw how you came immediately to the fire.”

She had a point, so with a shrug, he accepted the cup, thanked her, and took a few sips. She seemed keen to know whether he had enjoyed it, watching his face closely as he drank. When he put the cup down on the mantle, she placed a hand on his arm.

“I am so pleased to have found you,” she said coquettishly. “I think you and I make the perfect pair, don’t you?”

It was the most forward she had ever been, and in a way Loki was glad of it, for now it was easy to make it clear where he stood on the matter. “I’m sorry,” he said, pitching his voice low so as to not be overheard by the others, and stepped away so her hand slid from his arm. “If I have given you encouragement, it was most unconsciously done.”

Lorelei stared at him. And then she seemed to glance, inexplicably, at his coffee cup, and then turned her gaze back to him. It seemed that her expression hardened a little when she said, “Clearly I have made a mistake,” and walked away.

To have her attention off him was quite liberating, and he was pleased to sit by the fire with a book while the rest of the party talked on the sofas. He paid just enough attention to the others to see that Lorelei seemed to be paying a great deal of attention to Thor, which amused and irritated Loki in equal parts. Of course she had made over her affections to the other brother as soon as it became clear she would not achieve her aim; still, he could not help being pleased that she had pursued him first, rather than the future earl.

He was not at all surprised that evening when Thor came to his room and informed him that Lorelei had somehow cajoled him into asking her to join him for a picnic the following afternoon. “I don’t even want to go!” Thor exclaimed.

“She’s hardly left me alone for weeks,” came the amused and unsympathetic reply. “It’s your turn to deal with her.”

Thor grimaced while his brother chuckled. “Perhaps we should have a discussion with Mother,” Loki suggested, “and tell her that it is not necessary to invite her along with us so often, as neither of us has intentions of marrying her.”

“Something we apparently should have done long ago!” Thor exclaimed. “I’d assumed you were working up to courting her.”

This moment of camaraderie prompted an unexpected confession from Loki. “I considered it,” he said. “But when it came to it, I realized I did not feel for her what a man ought to feel for the woman he is to marry.”

“Then I am glad you didn’t,” said Thor, all sincerity and fraternal affection. “And I do hope you find someone else.”

“And I hope the same for you.”

. . . . . .


	15. Chapter 15

. . . . . .

On the day of the assembly, a note had arrived at the townhouse on Bridge Street, informing them of the arrival of the Thryheim party in Fólkvangr -- with the exception of Bjørn and the grandchildren -- and expressing a hope to see the earl’s family soon.

On the day after the assembly, Loki decided he would go visit them, for he was fond indeed of that set, and bored indeed on Bridge Street. Thor would have been pleased to join him, but he was stuck preparing for and then attending the picnic with Lorelei. Frigga said that she and the earl had not intended to make calls today, but instructed Loki to be certain to invite the lot of them to her card party that night; it was quite a last-minute invitation, but as Frigga said, “We would not dream of standing on ceremony with a family we know so well as theirs!”

And so it was that Loki alone made his way to their inn alone that morning, and was rewarded for his neighborly act when he arrived and saw that Sif had chosen the same moment to visit. She was seated at a small desk in the corner of the private drawing room they had rented, much occupied with the writing of a letter, but on his entrance she lifted her head and gave him a small but friendly smile.

What happiness is to be had when good friends are all around! Loki enjoyed that half-hour as well or better than he had all his time in Fólkvangr. Fandral, Volstagg and Hildegund were as friendly as ever, and even Haldor felt far more tolerable, now that Loki knew the man was not his rival for Sif’s affections. Captain Hogun Vanir was also in attendance, although his sister, the bride-to-be, had remained in Tønsberg with their mother to make preparations for the wedding.

They all conversed pleasantly together, with Loki making certain to pass on his mother’s invitation for them to join them at her card party that evening. In time, however, Hildegund, Volstagg and Haldor excused themselves, for they had an appointment with a tailor to begin getting Haldor fitted for his wedding clothes.

With their absence, only Loki, Hogun and Sif remained in the drawing room. As Sif still seemed very much caught up in her letter, Loki approached Hogun, who stood by the window, holding a miniature in his hand. The face shown there was Kelda’s.

“A very good likeness, is it not?” said Hogun.

“Very good.”

Hogun set the miniature on a nearby table with a sigh. “It is to be given as a gift to Haldor,” said he, “but it was not painted for him. You have heard, I suppose, of my sister’s tragic history? With a young man named William?”

“I have heard of him, yes.”

“William was a very good friend of mine,” said Hogun with sorrow in his tone. “I was so pleased when he and Kelda became engaged. Poor William! He would not have forgotten her so quickly.”

“I have heard that William was a superior sort of man. I can well believe that it would not be in his nature to quickly forget a woman he had truly loved.”

Hogun shook his head. “It has been less than a year since he died. I don’t mean to speak ill of my sister, but for her to become engaged again so soon . . . one wonders if it is a reflection on the inconstancy of women. After all, all histories are against them -- all stories, prose and verse. I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman's inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman's fickleness.”

“To be fair,” said Loki reasonably, “those were all written by men.”

Behind him, Sif made an odd coughing noise that might have been a strangled sort of laugh, and Loki’s lips twitched into a smile.

Hogun smiled reluctantly as well. “Fair point. Anyway, Kelda had this painted in Alfheim and never got it properly set; she has asked me to see to it while I am in town. I have been a little cast down by memories of my friend’s death, so Sif has kindly offered to write the instructions for the setting.” 

“Some people find comfort in moving on quickly, and sharing the love in their heart with someone new,” said Loki in defense of Kelda, on whom he still looked with fond feelings. “Others take a long time to let go.” He hesitated, and quietly added, “Some of us never do truly let go.”

A noise behind them caused them both to jump, but Sif had simply knocked over her pounce pot. “Have you finished with your writing?” Hogun asked.

“Nearly,” said she, righting the fallen implement. “A few lines yet.”

Hogun turned back to Loki. “Thank you for allowing me to ramble on,” said he, and then asked after Loki’s family. They chatted amiably, while behind them Sif sanded, folded, and sealed a letter hastily.

Then she stood, letter in her hand, and looked significantly at Loki; for a moment he almost thought that she meant to hand the letter to him, though that made little sense for her to give him the instructions for the miniature -- if indeed that was what the letter was. But before anything could happen, a knock sounded on the door.

“If you please, ma’am and sirs,” said the servant on the other side, “there is a party here to see someone they think is visiting this room. Is there a Mr. Loki Odinson present?”

“I am he,” said Loki, all surprise, wondering who would know to look for him here. He looked around at his friends. “Excellent to see you again. I suppose that, with so much of the group already gone, I shall go home after I have seen who has come to visit me. But I hope very much to see both of you at my mother’s card party tonight.”

Hogun bid him farewell, and Sif, still looking at him as though they had been interrupted in the middle of something important -- something that he did not understand -- merely nodded. And Loki followed the servant downstairs.

. . . . . .

In a private dining room on the main floor of the inn, Loki was surprised to see Sigyn and Theoric waiting for him with identical expressions of worry on their faces. Had those expressions not told him that it was a serious matter indeed, the fact that Theoric had come would have given it away, for it was no small distance from the university to this inn, and it was no small feat for him to navigate the city in his wheelchair.

“Excuse our interrupting your visit with your friends,” Sigyn began, “but we called at your home and your parents said you had gone out, and we could not wait.”

Even more dire than previously assumed, then, for to add a detour Bridge Street would have lengthened their journey considerably. “What is it?”

The worry that still marred Sigyn’s brow seemed to slow her response, until Theoric reached out and pressed her hand with his. Seemingly emboldened, she spoke. “When you visited me yesterday, I suppose you thought my response to your story was strange.”

“Strange indeed,” agreed Loki. “Who is Lorelei Incantare to you?”

Sigyn sighed, and Theoric’s strong brow furrowed. “I am sorry I did not tell you then,” said Sigyn, “but -- “

“But she was protecting me,” said Theoric. “What we are about to tell you could result in my arrest.”

This was astonishing, for Loki had never known Theoric to be anything but upstanding and honest.

“So what we tell you,” said Sigyn, “we tell you in the hopes that you will be discreet. But even if you will not, we have decided that we could not forgive ourselves if we stood idly by and something terrible occurred.”

“Good heavens! What is the meaning of all this?” Loki interjected. “Sigyn, please sit, for you look most distressed.” As the lady pulled over a chair so that she could sit beside her husband, Loki made a quick survey of all the doors and windows to be sure that they were shut tightly and locked.

Sigyn clasped her husband’s hand in hers. “I also did not want to say anything, for it was possible that Lorelei had simply formed an attachment to you, and had no ulterior motive. I wanted to be certain, before I spoke.”

“Ulterior motive? What can all of this mean?”

Theoric exchanged a look with his wife, then spoke with a sigh. “Lorelei Incantare is the reason I am in this wheelchair.”

Loki’s eyes widened in astonishment.

Theoric took a steadying breath. “I met Lorelei two years ago; she had come to the university to do research, or so she said.”

“Ah!” said Loki. “You mentioned her in a letter to me, did you not, Sigyn? I had quite forgotten about it, but when I first heard her name, I had a vague recollection of her having some connexion with the university. That must have been it.”

Sigyn nodded, and Theoric continued. “She quickly befriended me and convinced me to work on a project with her, and I suspect that this was her aim in coming to Fólkvangr. I do not mean to boast, but I have something of a talent for inventing new spells.”

“Something of a talent?” repeated Loki. “You are indisputably the best in the kingdom. But what spell did she want you to create? And how did it lead to your accident?”

Theoric’s expression was all solemnity. “She hoped to discover the secret to eternal youth and beauty.”

“Immortality, you mean?” Loki said, his mind whirling as he attempted to fit this new information into the image he had in his mind of Lady Lorelei Incantare. “Magicians have sought that since the dawn of magic. None have ever been successful.”

“It is something of an obsession with her,” Theoric confirmed. “And given her wealth, tenacity and brilliance, she has made notable strides in that direction. She had used her wealth to fund a trip to Svartalfheim, and returned with a large stash of finvarra; she theorized that a potion made of it, combined with a spell to direct the effects, might finally unlock the secrets of immortality.”

“But finvarra is classified as an illegal substance,” objected Loki. “And for excellent reason, for it is volatile and dangerous. If you had been caught using it in a potion -- ”

“I know.”

“Then why did you agree to it?”

Theoric sighed and looked at Sigyn, who took up the tale. “I do not know if you were aware, but Lorelei has a certain genius for potions.”

“Yes, we have spoken of it at length.”

“I imagine she did not tell you that her specialty is love potions.”

One surprise after another. “But those are illegal as well. Any spell or potion that interferes with free will is illegal.” The implications of the Theoric’s mentioning it finally sunk in. “Did she use one on you, Theo? Why did you not turn her in when you realized it?”

Theoric looked away, ashamed. “Because she brought the finvarra,” said he, his voice low. “But after she had dosed me with love potion, she convinced me to volunteer my own stash of asphodel for the potion.”

Loki’s understanding of his old friend was being dismantled piece by piece. “Asphodel? You mean you were also dealing in illegal potion ingredients?” 

“I had inherited it from my grandfather, who obtained it before the Illegal Potions Act was passed. I held onto it just in case; it seemed foolish to get rid of it. But I never intended to use it.”

“So you see,” said Sigyn, “if I had reported Lorelei for the love potion, she could have reported Theoric for the asphodel, and they both would have been arrested. And also . . . I was ashamed.”

“Ashamed?”

Theoric spoke lowly. “It would have been humiliating for her for this information to get out.”

“Why?” Loki demanded. “She did nothing wrong.” But then he remembered a fact he had learned about love potions years ago at university, and his expression softened. “Because love potions do not work on someone who is already in love,” he guessed, his voice quiet.

Sigyn nodded. “Theoric and I knew we did not love each other when we married. But still, to report Lorelei would have led to such a scandal for all of us, and the fact would have been repeated through newspapers and drawing rooms throughout the kingdom: none of this would have occurred if my husband had been in love with me. And you know what people would have said: if I had been a better wife, if I had been more desirable . . .”

“I was a fool,” Theoric said fiercely, pressing Sigyn’s hand with his. His focus was entirely on his wife, and hers on him, and Loki suspected they had nearly forgotten he was still in the room with them. “I did not know what I had. I was too caught up in my studies and my magic and my own cleverness for so many years; I never looked around and saw what was right in front of me.” He reached up to cup her cheek with his hand; she leaned into the touch. “I know better now,” he said softly. “I know now what an extraordinary piece of luck it was that my father wanted to marry me to the most wonderful woman in the world.”

To see such a public display of affection, especially between two people who had such a loveless start to their marriage, was as sweet as it was uncomfortable. “I still don’t understand,” said Loki. “What happened?”

“Lorelei slipped the potion into my drink,” Theoric said, turning away from his wife. “And as I had not yet learned to love Sigyn, I was quite ensnared by it. I would have done anything Lorelei asked me to, including working with her on an illegal potion and providing an illegal ingredient from my own collection, though brewing it would put me in danger. We worked on it for weeks. But when the time came to cast the spell I had developed on the potion she had brewed . . .” He shook his head. “As you said, there is a reason finvarra is an illegal potions ingredient: it is volatile and explosive. And all the precautions we took to stabilize it were not enough. Before I could finish the spell, the potion exploded. Lorelei had hidden herself and so was spared; I think she suspected the explosion was a possibility. I was thrown across the room with such a force that my back broke when I hit the wall. When I awoke, Lorelei was long gone and I was told I would never walk again.”

“By the norns,” Loki breathed softly. “And then what?”

Theoric laughed mirthlessly. “Did you know love potions can take weeks, even months to wear off? And we suspect she had dosed me more than once, which causes the effects to last even longer. When I awoke, even knowing what she had done to me, I was wild to see her again. Poor Sigyn had to nurse me through five months of convalescence while I was vocally and emphatically in love with another woman. By the time the last of the potion wore off, I was humiliated and she was exhausted; we simply wanted to put all of it behind us, and hope we would never see her again.”

“Sigyn, Theoric, I am so sorry,” came Loki’s amazed and sorrowful response. “What a trial you have been through!”

“Thank you,” said Theoric, and turned to his wife. “But as I said, one good thing came out of it: seeing Sigyn’s patience and kindness and goodness all those months as she nursed me back to health, I finally realized what I had in her.”

“And Lorelei vanished?”

“Until six weeks ago,” sighed Sigyn, “when she strolled back into my library. She has visited a few times since.”

“Did she?” said Loki. “That’s quite bold.”

“It is, by far, the best magical reference collection in the kingdom, so it does not surprise me she would come. I do not know whether she was unaware that I worked there, or if she knew and did not care, or if she knew and was flaunting her presence -- the fact that I could do nothing about her being there, and she and I both knew it.”

“So you did nothing?”

“Theoric and I had already determined there was nothing to be done. But I did take note of which books she pulled from the shelves, in case a pattern emerged. No such pattern was immediately apparent, and I thought that perhaps she was simply visiting Fólkvangr, and wanted to brush up on her magical knowledge while she was in the city. I must confess, I wanted to believe, rather than genuinely believed, that nothing bad would come of her being back in our lives." She hesitated, her expression sorrowful. "I did not tell Theo, for I knew it would only cause him distress; we have both long been haunted by the decision we made not to report Lorelei. If she hurt someone else because we had not stopped her when we had the chance . . ."

"I do not know what I would have done in that situation either," said Loki. "I understand why you should have reported her, but I also understand why you didn't. For Theo to be locked up in prison while so badly injured . . ."

Sigyn gives him a funny little smile, half sad, half grateful. “So I did nothing, until you told me yesterday that she had been spending time with your family and showing interest in you. And even then, I thought it was possible that she had simply fallen in love with you and meant you no harm.”

“But you do not believe that now,” Loki guessed.

“Theoric and I spent all night going through every book that she pulled out, trying to figure out whether she was a danger to you.”

“And?” Loki was on the edge of his seat.

“We finally found what we believe to be a common thread,” said Theoric. “We believe she thinks the secret to immortality may be found in an artifact called the Tablet of Life and Time. Is that not in your grandfather Borr’s collection of magical artifacts? That is, according to one book we read, its last recorded location.”

Loki could scarcely find words for a moment. “Yes, that was one of the pieces that Grandfather Borr collected. So her plan was to get close to the family so she could get access to it?”

“I assume it is well protected,” Theoric said.

“Yes, the spells on the armory at Gladsheim are quite impenetrable. The only people who can get in are -- ” He trailed off as realization coursed through him. “The only people who can walk past the wards on the armory are immediate members of the family. By birth or by marriage. If she had convinced me to marry her . . .”

“She would have been able to access the Tablet at any time,” Sigyn finished.

“Theoretically,” said Loki, his still whirling. “In practice, she would find it quite difficult, for the Tablet was destroyed many years ago.”

Sigyn was astonished. “Truly?”

“I believe I have told you,” said Loki, “of the terrible house fire that killed my Grandfather Borr and destroyed half of Gladsheim? Not long before my parents married?”

“You have.”

“What I told you is not the whole story. His death and the fire were both caused by his experimenting on the Tablet and triggering an explosion.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Perhaps he too was seeking immortality, and found quite the opposite instead.”

“But why keep the truth a secret?”

“My father started the secret. He is very proud, and he found the truth to be shameful, that his father should be so foolhardy. Before I went to university, he told me the truth as a cautionary tale about the dangers of being careless with magic, and I had no qualms about keeping the secret: it hurt no one, for the basic facts about an accident and a fire and a death were all still true. But the point is, the Tablet was completely destroyed when it exploded. Not even shards remain.”

Theoric gave a weary sigh. “So all her efforts to get close to you were for naught: you could never give her what she wanted.” 

“I am a little hurt,” said Loki, half joking and half serious. “It had been quite a boost to my ego to think that a beautiful lady had developed a  _ tendresse  _ for me.”

“She must have been somewhat fond of you,” Sigyn objected. “After all, the plan would have worked just as well had she targeted Thor, but she chose you. Perhaps she thought that of the two of you, you were the one she preferred to marry.”

“You do seem more her type than Thor,” Theoric confirmed. “She is quite fond of magicians.”

Loki began to piece the story together. “So she began to pursue me, befriending my family and finagling invitations from my mother. Perhaps she even engineered our first chance meeting in Tønsberg. But I never responded well to her advances -- ” He stopped, his eyes widening in realization. “A few weeks ago, she attempted to pressure me into declaring an interest in courting her. I rebuffed her, and her response was odd. Since that day, she has offered me drinks with unusual frequency.”

“I have no doubt they were laced with love potions,” said Sigyn. “If she was truly fond of you, perhaps she tried at first to win you over using only her own charms and attractions, and when this did not work, she resorted to love potions. Fortunately, you were safe from them.”

“Was he?” said Theoric.

“Of course he was,” said Sigyn. “I would not have let him go yesterday without a warning had I not known it was impossible for Lorelei to get her claws in him with her love potions.” She smiled at Loki. “For he is already desperately in love with Captain Tyrsdottir.”

Loki felt a whisper of heat touch his face.

Theoric snorted at that. “Is she still around? I always thought you should have tracked her down and proposed again.”

“Thank you for your helpful opinions,” Loki grumbled. But then his embarrassment quite vanished when something occurred to him. “Last night, I drank a cup of coffee Lorelei gave me,” he remembered. “She seemed surprised and disappointed when I rebuffed her advances immediately afterward. And then she turned her attentions to Thor.”

Sigyn looked alarmed. “To Thor!”

“To fall under a love potion is a terrible thing,” Theoric said. “One’s mind is not one’s own, and one may be forced into doing absolutely anything.”

“They are to have a picnic today,” Loki confirmed, fear rising in his chest. He looked at the clock on the mantle. “They should be leaving now.”

Sigyn stood quickly. “Your brother may be in danger. We know from experience that she has no qualms about using people and putting them in harm’s way.”

Loki stood as well. “I will go to him.”

“As shall we,” said Theoric, but Loki shook his head.

“I thank you for your kindness, my friends, but you both look exhausted -- you stayed up all night reading and then ran yourselves ragged searching Fólkvangr for me. I fear your fatigue would put you both in danger. Besides, your presence would make Lorelei suspicious.”

“Fine,” said Sigyn, “but do be careful, Loki. Lorelei is powerful and entirely without sympathy or remorse.”

“Understood,” said Loki. He embraced Sigyn and shook Theoric’s hand. “Thank you, friends, for your research and for your warning. And do not worry; word of your history with Lorelei will never escape my lips.”

And he hurried out of the dining room, out of the inn, and onto the streets of Fólkvangr.

Immediately he was met with a most welcome sight: Sif had apparently exited the inn just seconds before him, and was not far down the street, walking away from him. He could not take Sigyn and Theoric for backup, but Sif was the perfect person to bring along: Lorelei had no prior history with her, and she was good in a fight.

“Sif!” he shouted, not caring if he was making a scene.

She turned in surprise, her expression warming on seeing him, and he ran to her. “Thor may be in danger,” he said without preamble, and her eyes widened. “I am going to find him now. Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” said Sif promptly. “For you and Thor, anything.”

Loki’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Then let us be off.”

. . . . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you read or watch Persuasion and are like "Hmm, I wonder when the 'having to save loved ones from the evil secondary love interest' storyline starts out," I definitely just made this part up. Like there is a secondary love interest who turns out to be a tool, but he is not evil and does not threaten our main character's family. Just FYI. :)


	16. Chapter 16

. . . . . .

That Lorelei was the author of the threat to Thor was a matter of no small surprise to Sif; but after her initial exclamation of amazement, she put aside her questions to focus on what was to be done for her old friend. They quickly brainstormed a strategy, then hailed a hackney cab; they made one stop in the city to pick up a passenger, and then spent the ride to Observatory Hill busily making preparations for the confrontation that was to come.

At Observatory Hill, the cab driver let his passengers off in a hidden, secluded spot, then drove away. Loki looked grimly up at Sif.

Her answering smile was more gentle than his look had been. “All shall be well, Loki,” she assured him. “No harm shall come to your brother if I have anything to say about it.” There was comfort in the familiar timbre of her voice, and Loki nodded his thanks as he finished his last few preparations.

Then, fixing his expression into something cheerful and innocent, he strode out into the park.

Lorelei and Thor were easy enough to find, having situated themselves in the center of the park; Thor’s doing, no doubt, for given his emphatic lack of interest in the young lady, he would have taken precautions not to find himself in a position that could be considered in any way compromising. The couple had already begun eating the food that was spread out before them, and Loki prayed that he was not too late to save his brother from having his agency stolen from him.

It was Thor who first noticed that they were no longer alone; Lorelei was too focused watching him eat. “Loki!” he exclaimed, looking up. “What an unexpected pleasure! And . . . you’ve brought a footman?”

Loki glanced at the figure next to him, a young man dressed in the livery of the house of Odin. “I had use for him,” he said vaguely. “Do you mind terribly if I join you?”

Thor looked pleased. “Please,” said he, interrupting what would clearly have been a refusal from Lorelei.

“Actually -- ” she objected.

“Thank you,” said Loki, and seated himself on the blanket with Thor and Lorelei; his companion remained upright and alert close by.

The spread of breads, cheeses, and cold ham would not be the sort of place to conceal a love potion; the culprit must be the glass of lemonade in Thor’s hand. Unfortunately, the glass was half empty. “How is Cook’s lemonade today?” Loki asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.

“Delicious. She has outdone herself.”

So Thor had drunk the love potion, and was even now under Lorelei’s sway: an unfortunate development, but not an insurmountable one, now that Loki knew that any affection his brother showed for Lady Lorelei was simply the result of the potion. He simply had to convince his parents of such, so that they might prevent Thor from marrying Lorelei or taking any other drastic steps. “I believe I shall have some, then,” he said, reaching for the jug. “I’m feeling quite parched. It is a warm day, is it not, for October?”

He poured himself a glass -- fortunately Cook had packed extra dishes -- watching Lorelei out of the corner of his eye. But she did not react until he offered the drink to the silent figure who stood beside him: then she flinched.

So the love potion was throughout the whole jug, then, not just Thor’s glass. “On second thought, better not,” he said, taking the glass back. “Who knows what our father might say about us breaking bread with a footman? But I’ll keep some for later.” Earlier he had borrowed a flask from the inn, into which he now poured half the drink. “You’ll indulge me in this eccentricity, won’t you?” he asked, at which Thor chuckled.

“You may do anything you like, I suppose,” he said. “The kitchen this food comes from is yours as much as mine.”

Beside him, Lorelei did not look quite so serene, and with good reason: Loki now carried a sample of the lemonade. If that sample could be tested in the presence of College of Magic magicians, and proven to be dosed with a love potion, it would go very badly for her.

Movement caught Loki’s eye then, and involuntarily his gaze traveled to a young woman not far from the blanket; Lorelei noticed, and turned around to see what had caught his attention, but seeing only a tradeswoman in a simple dress, she turned back to her companions. “This is not terribly polite, Loki, to interrupt a private outing,” she chuckled.

“A grave shortcoming of mine,” said Loki gravely. “I am often not terribly polite. And I am about to continue being impolite.” He looked up at the man standing next to him. “Should you like to see a magical spell?” he asked, and received a nod in return. So he placed a hand over the cup and murmured _ “Syna fróðleikr.” _

The effects on both the lemonade and Lorelei were instantaneous: Lorelei looked suddenly quite tense, and the lemonade began to glow with a reddish light.

“That’s very odd, isn’t?” said Loki conversationally. “That spell reveals objects that have been enchanted with a spell or dosed with a potion. But why would the lemonade be enchanted?”

It was greatly to Lorelei’s credit that she maintained her composure so thoroughly, her momentary discomfort from earlier entirely gone. “I’m certain I don’t know,” said she in an airy tone. “It came from your kitchen, not mine.”

“True. Still, it’s odd; no one in our kitchens knows any magic. In fact the only magician to have handled it in all this time has been you, my lady.”

Lorelei’s expression darkened, just a hair, and Thor looked from her to Loki and back again. “What are you driving at, brother?”

Loki looked right at Lorelei. “That I believe your fair companion has been up to something.”

The lady’s response was an amused chuckle. “I think that perhaps Mr. Odinson has read one too many novels.”

Loki gave her a charming grin. “And I think that perhaps you have attempted to ensnare both my brother and myself with a love potion.” At this Thor’s eyes widened.

“I’m sure I have no idea of what you are speaking,” said Lorelei with wounded dignity.

“I think you do,” said Loki. “And I must admit, I’m a little flattered that you chose to attempt to enchant me first.”

“Loki, what is the meaning of all this?” Thor demanded.

“Lorelei sought us out simply so that she could marry one of us,” said Loki, his eyes never leaving Lorelei’s face. “When we would not fall in love with her, she resorted to love potions.”

“A fanciful tale,” said Lorelei with an amused grin.

“A true tale.”

“For which you have no proof.”

In response, Loki gestured to the flask at his side. “I wonder what would happen if I were to take this back to the experts at the university and have it tested. I wonder what they would find.”

The brief hint of concern that darkened her face was gone so quickly that Loki was not certain he had not imagined it. “Even if you did, and even if evidence of a love potion was discovered, you would have no proof that it had come from me. Any number of people may have had access to this picnic basket today. More importantly, why should I use a love potion on either of you? I flatter myself that I can attract a man’s attention without the use of magic.”

“Yes, but you wanted us in particular, didn’t you?” Loki asked, while Thor looked increasingly confused. “You wanted a certain item that happens to be in the Gladsheim armory, to which you would have access if you married me or my brother.”

This unexpected demonstration of his knowledge of her plan damaged her composure more than anything else had yet done, but she recovered quickly. “What an oddly specific accusation,” she said airily. “Why on earth would you think that?”

Here he had to tread carefully, for the last thing he wanted was to bring Sigyn or Theoric into all this; Lorelei could still drag Theoric down with her, if she chose. “I followed you to the university library one day,” he lied. “I’d grown suspicious of some of your behavior, and I wondered what you were up to when you were away from Bridge Street. I saw the materials you pulled from the shelf, and when you’d left, I looked through the book myself, and I asked a librarian if he remembered seeing you there before, and if he could recall anything else you’d looked at. And soon enough I found the common thread in all of your research: the Tablet of Life and Time. Theorized by some to hold the key to immortality, and known to be residing in the armory at Gladsheim.”

All traces of laughter were gone from her face. “This is a very serious accusation to make against the sister of a Peer.”

He matched her serious look. “It is a very serious offense to administer a love potion.”

Some of her amused arrogance returned. “Which, as I said before, you will never prove. If you tried to claim I had dosed the lemonade, it would be your word against mine. And who would believe you?”

“True!” Loki was all exaggerated faux regret. “If only I had a caster tracing spell.”

The smirk fell from her lips. “Which you don’t. No one does.”

Finally, he had her on her back foot. “Not until recently,” he agreed, and found himself adopting the smirk that she’d just lost. “But the researchers at the university are very clever. And I happen to know some of them personally. Sometimes they share new discoveries with me before they’re published.”

“Impossible,” Lorelei snapped.

“Let’s just see, shall we?” Loki put the jug of lemonade on the blanket before him, and concentrated; everything depended on his ability to execute this spell. With a few gestures and whispered words from him, the jug began to glow dark orange. The air pressure increased just slightly -- indicative of a major spellcasting. And Lorelei suddenly shuddered.

The glowing light on the jug began to elongate, like a piece of taffy being stretched upwards. It stretched toward the sky a long moment, and then began to drift toward Lorelei, who hissed as the glow touched her.

“I shall have to inform my friends that the spell works outside the laboratory,” Loki smirked. “They will be most pleased to hear it. Anyway, if the fine people at the College of Magic use that spell on this lemonade, your guilt will be undeniable.”

Lorelei stared at him, wide-eyed. But then she glanced at Thor and some of her confidence returned. “You wouldn’t really set out to harm the woman that your brother is going to marry, would you?” she simpered, with a subtle threatening edge beneath her tone. “Haven’t you heard? Thor and I are in love. I believe he would do absolutely _ anything _ that I asked him to. That’s something to think about, isn’t it?” And she reached out and laid a pale hand on Thor’s arm.

But to the immense surprise of all those on the blanket, Thor leaned away from her until her hand fell away from his arm. “Pray do not be so familiar, madam,” he said. “You and I are most certainly not in love.”

There were a few moments of silence while Lorelei and Loki both stared at the elder Odinson, and then Loki burst into laughter. “Thor, you are already in love with someone,” he guessed, and his brother’s self-conscious but pleased smile gave him a clearer answer than his words could have.

“It’s time to face the truth, Lorelei,” he said. “Your plan has failed in every way. Not least because -- ” And here he leaned forward, wanting to see her reaction. “ -- the Tablet of Life and Time has been destroyed these thirty years.”

Lorelei’s angry expression suddenly dropped into a shocked one.

“I believe you’ve heard the story of the terrible fire that killed my grandfather and burned part of Gladsheim? Said fire was precipitated by the explosion of the Tablet. Grandfather was apparently not as clever a magician as he thought.”

And for the first time, the brothers Odinson saw Lorelei without the mask of charm and poise she always wore: the lady was suddenly furious and just on the edge of control. Without warning, she suddenly hooked one elbow around Thor’s neck to pull him close, while her hand went up to the side of his head.

Loki recognized the light crackling from that hand, and went suddenly cold and sick with dread. “Thor, do not move!” he commanded, when his brother looked as though he would twist away, and he lifted a hand to stay the footman, who had started forward when Lorelei had laid hands on Thor.

“You recognize this spell,” Lorelei said. “Good. I don’t have to explain how badly it could go for your brother should I unleash it on his enormous, thick skull.”

“So what now?” Loki asked, fighting hard to keep his voice from shaking.

“Now you are going to let me leave, if you don’t want your parents to have to bury a headless corpse. I will release your brother when I have gotten myself to safety.”

Loki could never have imagined seeing Lorelei like this: such hardness and malice in her expression! Some instinct spoke to him, telling him that if he allowed Thor out of his sight, he would not see his brother alive again. But what could he do? If he began to gesture to start a spell, she would kill Thor. “Take me,” he found himself saying.

Thor and Lorelei both blinked in surprise. “What?” Lorelei demanded.

“Take me instead,” Loki said. “Surely, if you’re going to leave one Odinson brother dead in a ditch on the road between here and your escape, you’d rather it was the one who foiled your plans.”

There was real fear in Thor’s eyes when he objected, “Loki, no!”

“Tempting,” Lorelei smirked. “Which brother to choose?” She shook her head. “You know, Loki, this would all have gone so much easier if you’d just fallen in love with me. I chose you very specifically, you know. With your magical abilities and mine, the whole world would have been at our feet. And imagine how powerful our children would have been!”

“I hope that those assembled will not think less of me if I admit to being slightly flattered by that. That does not mean, however, that I do not find myself quite pleased to have escaped your clutches.”

“Pity,” said Lorelei.

And that was when the tradeswoman who’d been edging silently closer to the blanket all this while pistol-whipped Lorelei in the back of the head, knocking her to the ground. “I’d rather you not take either brother,” she said, while Thor and the footman lunged forward to bind Lorelei’s hands before she regained her bearings.

Loki looked up at their savior, feeling dizzy with relief. “Excellent timing,” he said, and waved his hand. The figure before him wavered as the illusion fell away. “Thank you,” he told Sif with heartfelt gratitude.

“For the Odinson boys, anything,” she said, and tucked her pistol back in its holster.

Lorelei stirred then; when she opened her eyes and found herself bound and laying on the picnic blanket, she began to curse and to threaten, informing all and sundry that she was sister to a duke and he would never let this stand. “No one is going to convict such a respectable person as myself on the word of an experimental caster tracing spell, one that only a handful of people know about.”

“Oh, I agree,” said Loki. “Especially as the spell doesn’t exist.”

Lorelei blinked.

“It would be terribly useful, though, wouldn’t it? I think I’ll start researching the problem. Njord is supposed to have made great strides in the area before his death; perhaps I’ll take up the cause.”

Their bound captive struggled into a sitting position. “But . . . the spell . . . I _ felt _ . . . It had all the earmarks of a scrying spell.”

Loki shrugged. “Haven’t you heard? I am very good at illusions. I recall you once raving about one I performed.”

Behind Lorelei, Sif snorted, and Loki fought back a grin at the sound.

“Then you have no case against me,” Lorelei said. “It will be your word against mine. And I flatter myself that the word of the sister of a duke carries more weight than the word of the sons of a disgraced earl.”

The footman spoke for the first time. “Correction,” he said in a deep voice, “it will be your word against mine.” Loki waved a hand, and the illusion fell away to reveal Admiral Heimdall Tyrson, looking very large and very imposing in his naval uniform. “And I flatter myself that the word of a highly decorated admiral of the Royal Navy carries at least as much weight as the words of the sister of a duke. Especially since, should the government decline to act on my testimony about what I’ve witnessed today, I have the authority under naval law to arrest you myself, having witnessed you threatening to murder an innocent bystander just now.”

For the first time, the full weight of her situation seemed to hit Lorelei, and she stared, white-faced and horrified, at the admiral. Loki grinned. “As I said, I am very good at illusions. This fellow here, however, is the real thing.” 

Their victory was complete; Lorelei seemed quite stricken, unable to muster up any more bravado. Still, Loki waved a hand, gagging her magically before she could say anything else; or, perhaps, to start crying or screaming or any such unpleasantness. “Shall we get this lemonade and this criminal to the College of Magic?”

When Sif had gone to hail a hackney cab and Heimdall was picking up the vitally important jug of lemonade, Thor, who had been quite shocked into silence by the last few minutes, put his hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Would you truly have traded places with me?” he asked quietly.

Loki waved a dismissive hand. “I could see Sif approaching. I was stalling until she could get close enough to strike.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Involuntarily Loki thought back to that moment when he knew he was about to lose his brother, and could not help the wince that crossed his face. “I will just say, I am very glad neither of us had to make that choice today.”

Thor grinned fondly at him, and then pulled his brother into a tight hug. “I love you too, Loki.”

Loki promptly hugged him back.

. . . . . .


	17. Chapter 17

. . . . . .

It was a peculiar assemblage of people who made their way to the College of Magic that afternoon. From the Royal Navy came Admiral Heimdall Tyrson and Captain Sif Tyrsdottir, both resplendent in their uniforms, the former carefully carrying a jug of lemonade. Behind them came the two sons of the earl of Ringsfjord, forcing along between them the sister of the duke of Nornheim, bound and gagged. At the back of the group came the local constable, roused from his afternoon nap by the admiral and still in considerable confusion.

That their appearance in the faculty offices of the College caused a stir should go without saying; and before long, nearly all the faculty and staff currently in the building were gathered in one of the research labs. Theoric either was away or had the good sense to keep his distance from the proceedings.

Attempting to corral the chaos was Eir, current dean of the College, and Loki's mentor when he was at the university. She was a competent, clever, and fair-minded woman, and Loki had been quite relieved to find her present when they arrived. If they could convince her of Lorelei's guilt, she would be a powerful ally in getting her incarcerated.

When all were gathered, Heimdall explained the provenance of the lemonade jug before him, how it could be conclusively linked to their prisoner, and how said prisoner had attempted to take the Viscount Mjolnir hostage when her plot was discovered. Then Eir and two of the professors best versed in potions took a sample of the lemonade in the jug and mixed up a concoction that would indicate the nature of the potion in it. The results were conclusive: the lemonade had been dosed with a powerful love potion.

With Eir’s authorization, the constable placed Lorelei under arrest. A quick discussion was had, until, on the recommendation of Heimdall and the constable, the following arrangements were made: all in attendance would submit signed affidavits stating what they had seen today; all were eager to help, for all considered the use of a love potion to be a heinous offense. Heimdall and Eir would join the constable in transferring Lorelei to Valhalla for her trial, bringing the affidavits and the remaining lemonade with them, and preparing to testify against her.

While most of the room looked on in mingled awe and horror, several of the College professors placed a spell on the prisoner that would strip away her magical powers temporarily, to avoid escape attempts.

“An enchantment I am pleased to have never experienced myself,” Loki commented to Eir, who stood nearby.

“Indeed,” said Eir. “But I think it very well deserved, in this case.”

“I must say, I was quite pleased to have you present for this. I knew you would go into this with an open mind, and not be dazzled by her lofty family connexions.”

Eir hesitated. “The truth is, I have long had my suspicions about the lady,” she confessed.

“Truly?”

The dean looked around, to ensure that no one stood near enough to overhear. “I believe you are friendly with a researcher here named Theoric?”

Loki confirmed that he was.

“Then you’ll have heard of his accident. The truth is, I have long suspected that Lady Lorelei was in some way at fault for the explosion; they were collaborating on a project at the time, and it is not at all like him to be so reckless and careless in his spellcasting. And he had been acting strangely for several weeks beforehand; I suspected a love potion then, but could never prove it, and then the accident occurred and Lorelei vanished and it was too late. Theoric insisted that the accident was his fault and that he was alone at the time, and I trusted that he had his reasons for concealing Lorelei’s involvement. Still, since I could not see her brought to justice for that, I am pleased to see her brought to justice for this.”

“And do you think she will face any punishment for her crimes? She was quite insistent that her connexion to her brother the duke would save her.”

“I personally intend to see this case through,” said Eir. “For Theoric’s sake. Fortunately, I happen to be well-acquainted with the Duke of Nastrond, who sponsored the bill outlawing love potions twenty years ago. He is a long-time political rival of the Duke of Nornheim. When he hears that it is Nornheim’s sister who’s been caught using a love potion, he will be merciless. And he is a very influential man. More so, I would say, than Nornheim.”

“A relief indeed,” Loki responded. “I will rest easier when she is behind bars.”

A warm smile covered the dean’s face. “It has been lovely to see you around the College again, Mr. Odinson. Tell me, what have you been doing since your time here?”

“Very little,” Loki confessed. “The usual things gentlemen do, I suppose.”

“Have you been using your magic?”

“Mostly just to maintain our wards.”

Eir shook her head. “That is a pity. You were one of the most talented magicians I have ever had the privilege to teach. The leisurely life of a gentleman is a poor use of your talents and abilities.”

“I have been thinking as much myself, lately,” Loki admitted.

At this Eir smiled at him. “Come speak to me if you ever think you might be interested in returning to academia.”

Any response Loki might have made was interrupted by the announcement by the constable that the prisoner was secured and ready to be transported to jail for a few hours, until Eir, Heimdall and the constable were ready to begin the journey to Valhalla. “I suppose that is a sign that I should go pack for a journey,” said Eir. “And I have a few letters to write.” Here she sent a meaningful glance toward Loki, who smiled.

She, the constable, and the prisoner left the room, Loki earnestly hoping that it was the last time he would set eyes on Lady Lorelei Incantare.

Then all the room was provided with paper on which to record their testimonies of what they had seen today; a local judge had been sent for, to witness the signing of their affidavits, so they might carry more weight when used in court in Valhalla. The faculty and staff finished earliest, having seen only the testing of the potion, and cleared out of the room; before long, only Loki, Thor, Sif, Heimdall, and the judge remained.

Thor finished well before the others, being a man with little use for writing; Loki and Sif finished a few minutes later. They each signed their document before the judge, and gave them to Heimdall for safekeeping. The judge left, and Thor joined him, going in search of something to drink.

Heimdall took his leave of them as well.

“Thank you for your help in all this,” Loki said.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to join you?” Sif said. “Or Loki or Thor?”

“I believe that my testimony and the dean’s, along with all these written testimonies and the tainted lemonade, will be more than enough to see her locked away. And I assure you I don’t mind going alone; I had been meaning to visit Valhalla soon anyway, to visit friends. Besides -- ” and here it seemed he smirked a little, though it was very subtle, and seemed very unlike the somber admiral -- “I think you have things to do here.”

So saying, he bowed and left them, carrying the packet of signed affidavits and the lemonade. The door had barely closed behind him when it opened again, and Loki was surprised to see Professor Jane Foster enter the room. “Oh, hello!” she said to Loki. “It’s you!”

“It is,” Loki said. “How lovely to see you again. What brings you to this part of the university?”

Here Professor Foster looked a little embarrassed. “I saw your party enter the building an hour ago; I wanted to come see what was going on, but had to deliver a lecture first.”

This was surprising indeed. “Merely out of curiosity?” he asked.

And now it was certain: the good professor was blushing. “Well . . .”

In that moment the door opened again, and Thor, striding in, stared in a sort of delighted surprise at their visitor. “Jane!” he exclaimed joyfully, and took her hands in his, and pressed a kiss to the back of each. “I was just thinking how delightful it would be to see you here, given our proximity to the College of Physics, but I scarcely thought I would truly be so fortunate.”

Loki and Sif exchanged glances.

“I know inviting myself here was a bit nosy,” Professor Foster began, but Thor would have none of it.

“I am always pleased to see you,” he said with absolute sincerity, while Loki wondered how in the world these two knew each other. “But where are my manners? Permit me to name my brother, Loki Odinson, and our dear childhood friend, Captain Sif Tyrsdottir. Loki, Sif, this is Jane Foster. She is a professor of physics here at the university.”

“We have met,” Loki informed him.

“Indeed,” said Professor Foster. “But I had no idea you two were brothers! Though perhaps I should have known, for even in that brief meeting, I thought that something in your mannerisms reminded me of Thor. I have thought of you often, Loki, and what you told me; what ever happened with that -- ”

But here she stopped, for Loki was shooting her a sharp glance and then subtly darting his gaze over at Sif; understanding filled Professor Foster’s expression, and she said instead, “And Captain Tyrsdottir, a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your service to our kingdom.”

Sif’s answering nod was perfectly polite; if she was curious about what Professor Foster had nearly said, she did not show it.

“But how do you know Thor?” Loki asked.

There was something charming in the way that Thor and Professor Foster answered together, finishing each other’s sentences and laughing often. The facts were these: they both enjoyed early morning walks and drives in the local parks; on one such outing, Professor Foster had lost control of her gig and sideswiped Thor; embarrassed and worried, she’d taken him to the doctor to be seen to; they had begun to talk and quickly become friends; they had made a habit of meeting up each morning to walk together.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, Sif caught Loki’s eye. She nodded subtly at the pair currently speaking, and raised her eyebrows. Loki smirked to say he agreed.

“So that is where you have been disappearing to every morning,” Loki said when the story was done. “And I suppose that the lecture you attended at the university involved Professor Foster as well.”

“It was very kind of you to come,” Professor Foster smiled at Thor. “Even though I imagine it was quite boring for you.”

“I was not bored at all!” Thor declared loyally, and that was when Loki knew that Thor was indeed taken with this woman.

“But what has happened?” Professor Foster asked. “Why was that woman you were with bound and gagged?”

Thor launched into his version of the story, one that perhaps exaggerated the role he played in Lorelei’s capture, but that did not fail to give Loki, Sif and Heimdall their due. He did not mention that he had in fact drunk the bespelled lemonade but been saved by an existing attachment, indicating that he was not yet ready to tell the young lady of his affection for her. At the point where he should have brought it up, this time it was Loki who caught Sif’s eye, and raised his eyebrows. There was laughter in her eyes: she agreed with him.

When the story was completed, Professor Foster exclaimed how terrible it all was, and how pleased she was that no one had been hurt and the culprit had been apprehended. Thor beamed at her.

But then the visit had to come to an end; Professor Foster was due back at her college. She bid a kind farewell to Loki and Sif, and a rather warmer farewell to Thor, and exited. And when the door was closed behind her, Thor turned around to see his two companions watching him expectantly.

“What?”

“Just wondering,” said Loki, “whether you’ll be married from Gladsheim or from here in Fólkvangr.”

Hope filled his face. “Do you think she would marry me?” he asked.

Sif laughed. “She looks at you like you are made of starlight, Thor. I think there is an excellent chance she would look upon your suit favorably.”

Thor grinned widely. “My old friend Sif! I have not even had a chance to tell you yet how wonderful it is to see you again, and how sorry I am for being so slow to call on you.”

“I was remiss in calling on you as well,” Sif smiled. “I hope that, moving forward, we can both do a better job at keeping in contact with each other.”

“And you truly think Jane would marry me?”

“Truly,” Loki confirmed. “But, Thor, fond though I am of the good professor, you know what our parents will say.”

“I do know,” said Thor lowly. “And I am sorry to displease them. But Loki, I have thought about this every day for the past two months. I love her, and I am convinced that there is none other I want to spend my life with. I am determined to pursue my own happiness, despite what our parents may say.”

It became necessary not to look at Sif, for Loki feared her reaction to his brother saying what he ought to have said eight years ago. “And if they disinherit you?”

“I doubt they will,” Thor shrugged. “It is a very complicated legal process. But if they did, I think you would make an excellent earl, little brother.”

“I don’t want to be the earl,” said Loki automatically. “I want to be a magician.” And though the words came from his mouth without his quite meaning to speak them -- and without his having thought about them much beforehand -- as soon as he spoke, he knew he meant them wholeheartedly. He was wasting his talents lounging about Gladsheim, living the life of a landed gentleman. It was time he did something about that.

“Well,” laughed Thor, “I suppose our parents will have to learn to take both our preferences into consideration.”

Loki hesitated, and then he smiled. “I suppose they will. And I suppose I had better have my best jacket cleaned and prepared for my brother’s wedding.”

Thor’s grin dazzled like sunlight, but the sound they heard next extinguished all their good moods like water thrown on a fire: “Where is my son?” came Odin’s voice from outside the door.

Loki looked at Thor, who shrugged. “I had a message sent to our parents,” he said. “I thought they might worry when I did not return from the picnic when I said I would.”

Sif’s posture grew stiff. Loki rather shared the sentiment.

. . . . . .


	18. Chapter 18

. . . . . .

The earl and countess of Ringsfjord burst into the room a moment later, worry and distress apparent in their expressions. Both started on seeing Sif with them, but quickly rallied and went to their sons.

“What has happened?” Frigga demanded. “Your note was so cryptic, Thor. What is this about Lorelei?”

Thor looked at Loki, who answered, “Lorelei is on her way to Valhalla to be tried for administering illegal potions.”

The astonishment and disbelief that followed this announcement can well be imagined, as the young lady had long been a favorite of the earl and countess.

“It is true,” Loki confirmed. “The purpose of her picnic with Thor today was to attempt to dose his drink.”

Thor seemed to notice that Loki had phrased things so as to avoid anything that might lead to premature discussions of Jane, for he flashed his brother a quick smile. “Loki and Sif came to my rescue,” he said loyally. “It is because of their quick actions that I am safe and Lorelei is where she cannot hurt anyone else.”

Odin, of course, seized only on one portion of this. “You were involved in having the sister of a Peer arrested?” he demanded of Loki, whose anger promptly bubbled over.

“She got herself arrested,” he snapped. “Love potions have been illegal in Asgard for twenty years, and, having been educated in magic at a reputable university, she would have known that perfectly well. If I had not acted, she would even now hold Thor in thrall.”

But Odin, having no magical abilities himself and knowing nothing about legislation surrounding such magic, seemed not to grasp the gravity of what Lorelei had done. “Is it really worth being arrested over? Worth ruining the reputation of such an estimable lady?”

And Loki saw red. “Lorelei would have stolen Thor’s free will from him; while under the influence of the potion, he would have done absolutely anything she told him to, including drinking poison or swallowing a bullet. This was all in an attempt to get her hands on an artifact at Gladsheim that she thought would give her eternal youth, but that was in fact destroyed in the fire that killed Grandfather Borr; I fear what she would have done with her unwanted husband once she discovered he served no purpose. I can tell you this much, as a way to sketch her true character: when we discovered her plans, she took Thor hostage, and told us that if we tried to stop her she would return him to you as a headless corpse.”

Frigga looked horrified, and even Odin seemed to finally understand just how wicked Lorelei truly was. “Lorelei Incantare said that?” Frigga asked. “Lady Lorelei Incantare?”

“The three of us, and Admiral Tyrson, can all attest to it.”

“By the norns,” breathed Frigga. “And to think we brought such a young lady into our lives and our home! We were quite deceived as to her true character. I am so pleased, my sons, that neither of you was hurt.” And she gathered her sons into a tight embrace; Loki tolerated it very willingly, as it was not often that anyone embraced him so.

“As am I,” said Odin gruffly. “And I am sorry I did not see Lorelei for what she truly was.”

Frigga released her sons, only to turn her attention on the younger and cup his cheek with her hand. “And thank you, Loki, for looking after your brother.”

“You must thank Sif as well!” Thor added. “It was she who subdued Lorelei, after Loki had tricked her into confessing.”

Only a moment’s hesitation transpired before Frigga smiled and turned to the fifth occupant of the room. “Thank you, Sif. Thank you for being a friend to my sons, both when you were children and now.”

“Yes, thank you,” Odin added.

Sif bowed solemnly. “It was my pleasure.”

The strained silence that filled the room conveyed clearly that no one knew what to say next. “I suppose I should go,” said Sif.

“Must you?” was Loki’s immediately reply.

Sif expression softened, but Odin’s brow furrowed. Thor looked back and forth between his brother and his friend for a moment, and then suddenly said, “But Mother, Father, you must let me tell you the story of what happened! It was quite the most extraordinary and intense situation I have ever found myself in. And Loki and Sif and Heimdall were incredibly brave.”

Odin and Frigga acquiesced, and Thor ushered them to a pair of chairs nearby; in a moment, they had fixed their attention on their older son as he launched into an animated retelling of the day’s events. This retelling, unlike his previous retelling to Jane, seemed to focus on Sif and Loki’s roles in rescuing him.

This left Sif and Loki standing alone several feet away. With a rush of gratitude for his brother filling his chest, Loki turned to Sif and said quietly, “Thank you again. For believing me and lending your assistance, and for convincing Heimdall to join us.”

“Heimdall would have come anyway,” Sif said with a smile. “He has come to quite like you, ‘against his better judgment,’ as he says.”

Clearly she intended to jest, but Loki knew perfectly well that if Heimdall had been inclined to dislike him, it could only be because he knew how infamously Loki had treated his sister, and the reminder made him uncomfortable and silent.

“I am honored by your willingness to follow me,” he managed to say. “Especially . . . especially given how I have treated you in the past. I had no right to expect your help, and you gave it anyway.”

“It was no trouble,” she said quietly.

Silence fell between them a few moments as Loki carefully selected the words to say next. “I don’t believe I ever told you that I am sorry," was his eventual statement. “Which is a gross oversight, because I am, desperately so, and have been since it happened.”

Sif stared at him, her expression softening, her smile widening, and she looked to be on the verge of speaking when Frigga called out, “Loki, do come join us!”

The frustration Loki felt was mirrored on Sif’s face. “Just a moment,” came his response. “I am thanking Sif for her help.”

He turned back to Sif, who hesitated a long moment before a determined look came into her eyes. With a glance at the others, as though to be sure no one was watching, she pulled a letter from her pocket. Unless Loki much missed his guess, it was the same letter she had been writing that morning at the inn -- had that really been only a few hours ago? -- the letter that he had briefly suspected she meant to give to him.

“Loki,” she said so softly that the others could not overhear, “would you do me the honor of reading this letter?”

His surprise, though considerable, could not outweigh his willingness to perform nearly any act Sif might ask of him, so he accepted the missive. She bowed briefly, and left the room.

He hid the letter carefully in his jacket and joined his parents; but Thor’s story had ended, and Frigga, declaring her absolute amazement at all that had happened, suggested they return home.

As convenient as taking the family carriage home would be, however, Loki did not think he could bear to sit in a confined space with his parents for so long with Sif’s letter sitting as heavily as a stone in his pocket. So he lied.

“I must run an errand on my way home,” said he. “I will find my own transportation and join you later.”

His family agreed and left the room, and when he was finally alone, Loki sat down and opened the letter.

. . . . . .

_ Loki, _ it read, and he imagined her writing these words this morning, listening from the corner while he and Hogun talked of losing loved ones,

_ I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. _

_ You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. _

_ I stand before you now with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. _

_ You alone have brought me to Fólkvangr. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. _

_ I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. You say that there are those who never truly stop loving those to whom they have given their hearts, even when all hope seems to be lost. Believe it to be true, of _

_ S.T. _

_ . . . . . . _

Such a letter was not soon to be recovered from. Half an hour’s reflection might have been enough to still his racing heart, but he was given only half a minute before the door opened and one of the researchers apologetically informed him that the research lab he currently occupied was needed.

Only half aware of what he did, Loki put the letter back in his pocket, gathered his things, and left the room.

How was such a letter to be responded to? All his old objections remained, and yet, the pounding of his heart compelled him to run to the street, hail a hackney cab, and give the driver the address of Heimdall’s lodgings.

They had gone barely a block before Loki saw a familiar figure walking down the road, and he called desperately for the cab to come to a stop. Sif watched gravely as he paid the driver and scrambled out, but there was hope in her eyes.

That hope dimmed, though, as they stared at each other. “Should I take the distressed expression on your face to mean that you found the contents of my letter distasteful?” she asked steadily.

“No!” he exclaimed too loudly, drawing the attention of several passersby. Suddenly eager for privacy, he looked around, then took her hand and pulled her into a nearby park, currently nearly empty, where a quiet and retired gravel walk would give them some modicum of isolation.

Sif looked down at their hands, still joined, and Loki panicked and released her, stepping back to put some distance between them. “Then what is the cause of your distress?” she asked, her expression shuttered.

He could not tell her the truth; not now, when he knew she loved him still. He could not bear to see that love turn to disgust in her eyes. So he said instead, “My father will likely disown me, should I marry against his wishes. I would bring nothing to such a marriage.”

A relieved smile crossed her face. “Loki, I have more than enough money for the both of us,” came her reasonable reply.

“Ah,” said he. “An excellent point. But -- the scandal currently attached to my family -- ”

“Will pass,” said Sif. “But even if it does not, I do not care about such things. Nor would any who were truly your friend.”

Still the distressed expression lingered on Loki’s face as he tried to sort out his jumbled emotions, and Sif’s brow darkened, and she stepped back. “I am sorry,” said she, her voice and countenance grave. “That letter was very forward, and I see now I miscalculated when I hoped you would welcome it. I apologize for the imposition -- ”

Panic cut through Loki’s indecision and allowed him to insist, “You are not an imposition! Sif, you could never be an imposition, and your letter was . . . but Sif, you should not care for me. You must not.”

Fire rose in Sif’s eyes; she had never been one who took well to being told how she ought to think and feel. “And why ever not?” she demanded.

Loki looked around to see if they were alone, his instinct to protect his secret at all costs warring with his overwhelming desire to bring Sif into his confidence and his embrace. “Because . . . Sif, there is a secret I have been hiding; I only learned of it four years ago. You see, I am . . . I am afraid that I am . . . ”

“Jotun?” Sif supplied helpfully.

Shock quite stole away his tongue, and for a long few moments he could only blink stupidly at her, finally rousing himself enough to demand, “How do you know?”

She smiled gently. “It was no great mystery. My parents have long known that you were adopted, and spoke of it occasionally at home, though they instructed me never to tell anyone, for they could see your parents wanted to keep it a secret.”

“How did they know?” Loki demanded. “I had no idea!”

“When your parents left for Alfheim, your mother was not visibly pregnant. They returned eight months later with a baby who was clearly at least five to six months old. Not to mention the fact that you resemble none of your family, past or present.”

“And -- the other thing?”

“It seemed the most obvious explanation as to how you touched that sword with no harm coming to you -- a sword that nearly killed Haldor. And then I remembered you asking about Jotun war refugees, which was unusual. And that reminded me of something my mother said once: that if your family acquired you on a voyage overseas, how did we know you were even Asgardian?” She smiled again. “As I said, no great mystery.”

For the third or fourth time today, Loki found himself struggling to recover from a blow that had turned all his understanding of his world on its head. “You knew.”

She nodded.

“How long?”

“Since before I came to Fólkvangr.”

He touched his pocket. “You knew what I was, and you wrote this letter anyway.”

Her gaze was fervent and sincere. “I know what you are, and I wrote that letter anyway.”

“My people are Asgard’s most hated enemy.”

“Your people,” she agreed. “Not you. You are no more responsible for the Jotuns’ war than I am responsible if some Asgardian, entirely unknown to me, robs a house.”

“I can never give you children.”

“There are other ways to have children. As you so aptly demonstrate with your own origins.”

Hope was dawning in his chest, like the sun rising over the horizon. “You would take me as I am?”

Sif smiled softly. “I can think of nothing I would like better.”

Loki stared at her while his heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird. And then he smiled. “In that case, I would like to start this conversation over again.”

“By all means.”

Loki turned away from her, gathered himself, and tried to calm his racing heart. Then he turned back to her. “Sif,” he said, “I am so glad I found you.”

“Indeed?”

He took her hands in his. They were more calloused than they had been eight years ago, but they were warm and familiar, and he took a moment to be grateful that he had elected not to wear gloves today. “I am in receipt of your letter, madam, and would like to inform you that the sentiments contained therein are entirely reciprocated.”

A relieved smile broke out on her face. “Are they?”

“They are, and I can never apologize enough for my behavior eight years ago that led you to believe otherwise.”

“You were trying to be a good son,” she reassured him. “I know how much your mother, at least, means to you, and how it would have pained you to distress her.”

“But I knew their reasons, and I knew that they did them no credit. If ever there was a moment that encouraged filial disobedience, that was it.”

Sif took a step forward, her hands still clasped in his. “I tried to forget you,” she said softly. “I thought I had.”

“I will never stop being grateful that you failed. Sif Tyrsdottir, I have loved you since before I knew what love was. I was a fool to allow anyone to persuade me to let you slip away. I have missed you every day for eight years; I have regretted you every day for eight years. I have loved none but you in all that time, and longer. And now that I have been given this second chance, I have no intention of letting it slip through my fingers. Would you, dearest Sif, do me the great honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

Captain Sif Tyrsdottir of the Royal Navy was a stalwart, unflappable sort of woman, not given to dramatic displays of emotion. So when she had to close her eyes and take a moment to bring herself under control, Loki knew well how significant that was, and felt a rush of relief and joy eight years in the making.

“Yes,” she said, opening her eyes. “Yes, Loki, there is nothing in this world I want more than to marry you.”

In later years they would playfully argue about who made the first move -- who would be so brazen as to initiate a kiss in a public park -- but the truth was that they both leaned in at the same moment. His hands were on her face before he realized he had moved, but by then she was grabbing the lapels of his jacket, and then it was the easiest thing in the world to lean down and press his lips to hers.

And in that moment Loki saw his past -- a sun-drenched childhood with his best friend, a foolish mistake followed by years of sorrow -- and he saw his future, in which he felt quite certain lay joys of which he could not yet conceive.

So when Sif broke the kiss to whisper against his lips that she loved him, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I propose that we marry with all haste,” he says. “Before some other obstacle arises and we waste any more time.”

“Agreed,” said Sif, and this time it was quite certainly she who kissed him.

He evened up the count before they left the park that day.

. . . . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, amirite?


	19. Chapter 19

. . . . . .

Of course leaving that park was not something that was accomplished soon; neither of the pair of lovers was keen to abandon their quiet sanctuary and return to the outside world. The afternoon slipped away as they walked arm-in-arm, their heads bent in conversation, their focus solely on each other; in future years they would think with the greatest fondness on that park, made sacred to them by that afternoon’s conversation.

What bliss, what peace, what joy was theirs now that all misunderstandings had been put to rights!

They talked nearly without ceasing; eight years of feelings and actions must be discussed. Loki told Sif of how desperately he had regretted being persuaded to end the engagement, but how his parents' disapproval, and her declaration that she hoped never to see his face again, had stayed his hand when he would have reached out to her to make amends; of how his discovery of his true origins had discouraged him even further, along with the scandal involving his father; of how all these things together had kept him from renewing his suit when she returned to Gladsheim this summer.

Sif, in turn, spoke of her anger and resentment for years following his rejection of her; she spoke of how she returned to Gladsheim only on her brother’s insistence, and only after solemnly vowing that she would ignore Loki as much as polite behavior would allow.

“How quickly your mere presence weakened my resolve! I could not help being quite struck when Haldor said that you had shown little interest in other women since I left, or being unexpectedly jealous when Lorelei was so taken with you on the streets of Tønsberg. But it was not until Haldor’s accident until I knew myself to be an absolute fool where you were concerned. I had encouraged Haldor’s attention because it was flattering; and I admired his bold personality because I foolishly equated it with strength of character -- a quality I resentfully told myself you lacked.”

“You were not wrong.”

“I was wrong, though! And I knew it after Haldor’s accident. I saw that boldness and decisiveness, when they are not governed by good judgment and intelligence, are not to be admired; indeed, they can be quite dangerous. What I took for strength of character in Haldor, I suddenly saw as impetuous foolishness. Especially when I compared his behavior to yours: that you kept such a cool head under pressure, and took control so smoothly and authoritatively. _ That _ is strength of character: to stay true to yourself in trying circumstances.”

To hear her speak so flatteringly of him was a difficult thing to interrupt, but Loki could not help himself. “Something I did not do eight years ago -- ”

“You were young,” said she. “So was I. If I’d kept my head about me more, I might have taken the time to realize why you would take your parents’ counsel so much to heart. As I came to realize later. I do not mean to say that I think either you or your parents were right, but I do understand why you did what you did.”

Then she spoke of her realization that her feelings for her old friend had never faded. “Anger had long covered the more tender feelings, but they persevered all those years, only to re-emerge quite emphatically in Tønsberg. But once Haldor’s accident made me realize I had never stopped loving you, he still stood in the way of my attempting to rekindle our connexion. Hogun informed me that my unguarded behavior where that young man is concerned had quite convinced all his friends and family -- and indeed, all of Tønsberg -- that we were courting and would soon become engaged.”

“I was under the same impression,” said Loki, and Sif pressed his hand gently, in apology and support.

“This was, of course, the last thing I wanted; but I worried that if I spoke now, the discouragement could hinder his recovery -- recovery from an injury for which I felt responsible. I had no interest in marrying him, but I did feel some responsibility for giving him such marked attention, when I knew perfectly well I meant nothing by it. I had convinced myself that it was a simple flirtation, but I should have paid better attention to Haldor’s feelings, and seen that he was reading more into it than I intended. So I left Tønsberg for a time, in the hopes that the distance would weaken his attachment to me.”

“And apparently it worked.”

“Remarkably well!” Sif laughed. “I still think Haldor a poor substitute for William, but I must confess to being quite happy that Kelda and Haldor both made over their affections to each other so quickly.”

“And I! I shall never forget what distress I felt when I received a letter from Fandral, informing me that Haldor needed to shop for wedding clothes. I thought you lost to me forever, and was quite despondent. That was how I met Professor Foster, actually; she saw me on campus, looking very upset, and stopped to offer comfort.”

“I was already inclined to like the lady, for her own sake and for Thor’s, but now I know of her kindness to you, I am certain I shall be able to love her, when Thor tells us that the good professor is to be our sister.”

Loki could not help the foolish, besotted grin that crossed his face when she spoke so. “You will also bring an excellent sibling to the marriage,” said he. “I have grown very fond of Heimdall, especially as he was the one to inform me that Haldor was to marry Kelda.”

“We shall have to thank him,” came his companion’s reply. “And I shall have to apologize for having inadvertently caused you such distress. Was that when you grew so close to Lorelei? When you thought I was promised to another?”

“Lorelei had insinuated herself into our lives well before that time, although I will admit that the closest I ever came to succumbing to her relentless pursuit of me occurred when I thought you lost to me forever.”

“She was indeed relentless,” grumbled Sif, and a pleased smile lit Loki’s eye.

“You were jealous, were you not? I suspected so, but I am pleased to have confirmation now.”

“Taking joy in my pain?”

“I was forced to endure weeks of you flirting with Haldor and ignoring me. Pardon me if it pleases me to know that I wasn’t the only one left feeling envious and hopeless.”

“You were not,” she confirmed. “The day I heard of Haldor’s engagement to Kelda, I began planning for my removal to Fólkvangr. But when I arrived, I discovered that you were scarcely ever to be seen without Lorelei on your arm. I thought I had foolishly wasted my chance, and I cursed myself constantly for allowing my stubborn resentment and pride to keep me from renewing our connexion back at Thryheim. You cannot imagine what agonies I felt these past few weeks.”

Loki raised an eloquent eyebrow at her, and she laughed and relented, “I suppose you can. Your declaration at the ball, that there was no understanding between you and Lorelei, taught me to hope as I had scarcely dared to hope before. Perhaps you simply meant that you had not yet had a chance to press your suit, but at least I finally knew that you had not yet become engaged to her.”

“I considered it. I knew that pursuing her was the only sensible choice: she was wealthy and prominent and clearly mine for the asking, and you were, I thought, entirely lost to me. But despite all this, I could not bring myself to court her. For, despite all her seemingly good qualities, there was one vital quality that she lacked.”

“And what was that?”

Loki bent his head and kissed her sweetly. “She was not you.”

“Such beautiful flattery! I have quite missed that silver tongue of yours, Loki.”

“I have quite missed everything about you.”

“How fortunate, then,” said she, “that I have no intention of leaving your side ever again.”

. . . . . .

Heimdall was the first of their friends and relations to be informed of their marital plans; the newly engaged couple visited after leaving the park, managing to catch the admiral just before he left for Valhalla.

At the news, the admiral was deeply pleased and a little smug. “It is good to know that all my fine work was not wasted.”

“Fine work?” asked Sif. “Whatever can you be talking of?”

“My dear sister,” said he, “do you really believe it was only coincidence that I sought to rent the home of the man you so obviously still loved?”

This proclamation was met with great incredulity, and Heimdall told his listeners of how he had seen his sister’s heartbreak and pain eight years ago with great worry, and how he had kept his eye on her ever since.

“You mastered your emotions again fairly quickly, and for many years you appeared genuinely to have recovered from your disappointment, holding Loki now only in anger and contempt. But these last few years, I sensed a longing in you -- one that perhaps you yourself did not even see. Some gentle prodding confirmed my suspicions: that beneath your anger, your love for Loki had not faded. So when I learned of Odin’s fall from grace and Gladsheim being available, I thought that perhaps I might stay there for a time and invite you to join me.”

Loki and Sif were all astonishment. “Did you deliberately seek me out to make sure I knew that Haldor was engaged to Kelda, not Sif?” Loki asked.

“I began packing for Fólkvangr as soon as I received Sif’s letter,” Heimdall confirmed.

“And did you deliberately send me to ask Loki about your giving up the lease on Gladsheim, just so I would finally have confirmation that he was not engaged to Lorelei?” Sif asked.

Heimdall smirked.

“Good heavens,” said Loki. “I believe I have underestimated you, Admiral.”

“A mistake you shall not make again, I’d wager.”

“I take it, then, that you approve of the match?”

“Most heartily, now that I am quite certain you have learned your lesson and shall not jilt her again,” said Heimdall. “But I am not her father. Do you intend to ask him?”

Sif scoffed. “I am twenty-seven years old, brother. I hardly need Father’s permission to marry.”

“No, but I would like his blessing,” said Loki. “And your mother’s. And I ought to apologize for how abominably my own father treated them the last time we became engaged.”

“I suppose that would be a lovely gesture,” Sif conceded. “We shall write to them, then. But must we wait for an answer before we call ourselves engaged?”

“Goodness, no,” said Loki. “I _ shall _marry you this time, even if all the parents in all the Nine Realms disapprove. I refuse to lose you again.”

Sif smiled softly while Heimdall snorted at them both. “If this is the kind of lovesick foolishness you two are going to spout, I am glad I will be in Valhalla for the duration of your engagement. Do write to me with the date of the wedding. I shall return for it.”

So saying he embraced his sister, and shook Loki’s hand, and returned to his packing.

. . . . . .

To Sigyn and Theoric’s house they went next, to acquaint them of Lorelei’s capture and certain imprisonment, and to introduce Sif to them. Loki said nothing of Theoric’s own history with Lorelei, as it was not his secret to tell to Sif, but he could see in his intended’s sharp glance that she guessed there was something she was not being told.

Their hosts saw it as well, and after a quick glance at each other, gave Sif a very quick explanation of how they came to inform Loki of Lorelei’s treachery, leaving out all but the barest details of why they had not reported her to the authorities. Sif thanked them most solemnly for their care for Loki, and assured them that she would be discreet.

The conversation turned to more cheerful topics then, namely the upcoming nuptials. Sigyn was so pleased for her friend she nearly cried, and Theoric very cheerfully teazed Loki, saying how glad he was that Loki would no longer be moping around, mourning his lost love.

“Did he mope over me?” Sif asked, looking entirely too pleased, and Sigyn and Theoric launched into a detailed description of how gloomy Loki had been after ending their engagement. It was all rather humiliating, but it made Sif sympathetic and affectionate, clasping and kissing his hands, and Loki found he didn’t mind it in the end.

Neither Loki nor Sif was keen to return to Bridge Street too soon, knowing perfectly well the scene that awaited them there, so Sigyn and Theoric offered up pens and paper and desk space so they could begin their letters to Tyr and Gná.

Loki called all his eloquence to bear to express his genuine regret and sorrow over how things had transpired eight years ago, and with Sif sitting beside him, her knee pressed against his as she wrote her own letter, he found himself quite able to humble himself sufficiently to plead for their blessing. It was no difficulty at all to assure them that he would do all in his power to make their daughter happy for the rest of their lives.

When the letters were sanded and sealed, the four friends enjoyed a meal together -- the first, Loki suspected, of many such meals, for his friends and his bride took to each other as quickly as he had always hoped they would -- and then it could not be put off any longer: he must return to Bridge Street before his parents sent out a search party.

Sif, they decided, would attend the card party, and they would make the announcement there; the earl and countess would hardly be willing to make a scene surrounded by all their friends. So they hailed two hackney cabs, and with a kiss, they parted.

. . . . . .

Curious looks from all his family greeted him when he returned to Bridge Street just in time to dress and greet the first guests at the card party; he had claimed to have a mere errand to run, but had been gone for hours. No doubt they wondered as well why he could scarcely keep a smile from his face, given the stress of the day’s events. But Loki volunteered no information, and his parents and brother were too busy greeting guests to press him for answers.

It was a widely attended party -- an invitation from the house of Odin was a privilege few would refuse -- and Loki found his spirits rising with every new guest that arrived. For the larger the audience, the less the earl would be willing to make a scene when the engagement was announced.

The topic of nearly every conversation in the room was Lady Lorelei Incantare’s sudden defection to Valhalla. Those involved had all elected to keep the truth under wraps until charges could officially be brought against her in court, so for the moment, the rest of the city simply assumed she had left suddenly for the capitol.

The Thryheim party arrived without Sif, assuring their hosts that the good captain would be along shortly. Neither the earl nor the countess seemed particularly pleased at this news, but Loki could hardly hide his smile.

Frigga was in the process of organizing tables for whist when the door opened and in strode Sif in full naval dress uniform, her boots polished to gleaming. Loki could not help but stare in admiration, and from the corner of his eye saw Fandral notice his staring, and smirk to himself.

Let the man smirk. He had every right in the world to gaze at Sif.

“Ah, Captain Tyrsdottir,” said Frigga, kindly enough. “How pleasant to see you. And your timing is exquisite; we have an odd number of players. You’ll make a fourth for this whist table.”

Sif caught Loki’s eye across the room, and he grinned. “Actually, Mother,” he said, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard by all the room, “I was hoping you would put Captain Tyrsdottir at my table.”

Odin frowned.

“Oh?” asked Frigga. “Well, I suppose it is natural for you to want to catch up with an old friend.”

“And even more natural to want to be seated with my intended.”

A thunderous look crossed Odin’s brow. Frigga’s smile stiffened.

Sif grinned.

“Mother, Father,” Loki continued, “Sif has made the happiest man in the world, and accepted my offer of marriage.”

And now even Frigga’s smile was faltering. But nobody noticed, for the whole room had exploded in exclamations and approving murmurs. Guests offered hearty congratulations, and talked animatedly amongst themselves about how they had all thought Mr. Odinson to be courting Lady Lorelei, but this was an excellent choice as well, for didn’t Captain Tyrsdottir cut quite a figure in her uniform, and wasn’t it said that she had made quite a fortune in the war against Jotunheim?

Loki just grinned. The gossip would be all over town by morning, and there would be nothing anyone could do to stop the marriage from occurring without destroying his reputation for good.

And perhaps Frigga saw the inevitability of such an outcome, for when the congratulations had died down, she obligingly agreed that he and Sif should play at the same table.

Sif came over, escorted by Thor, who was beaming from ear to ear and offering congratulations again and again. He only released her arm in favor of throwing his arms around Loki, and declaring what a perfect match he had made, and how pleased he would be to have Sif as a sister.

“Remember that when our parents try to disown me,” Loki muttered, and Thor’s embrace tightened.

“I will do all in my power to ensure that does not occur,” he promised, and then they all sat down to whist.

It was a perfect evening; Frigga changed tables often, so Loki found himself playing his brother and Hogun and Fandral and Volstagg and Hildegund at various times throughout the evening, always with Sif as his whist partner. (As many learned to their detriment, the two had played cards together often when they were young, and were excellent at reading each other’s tells, and won all their games most handily.) The only thing to ruin Loki’s good mood was the storm he could feel brewing on the other side of the room, where Odin was not doing quite so good a job as his wife at keeping his displeasure in check.

“Your parents are very unhappy, are they not?” Sif asked softly when he had accompanied her outside to start her journey home.

“No matter how they respond, it will be worth it,” he assured her. “These last eight hours are the happiest I have spent in the last eight years.”

Still, caution lurked in her eyes, and he cursed himself for putting it there, and rejoiced that it was his place to reassure her in her distress.

“I swear this to you,” he said. “Nothing will make me change my mind. Not this time. Now that I know what it is like to be without you, and that it is no kind of life at all.”

And he sealed his promise with a kiss.

. . . . . .


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally at the end of this crazy ride! Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed.

. . . . . .

The fallout was precisely what Loki had supposed it would be; the earl and countess were waiting for him when he returned to the house, and Odin proceeded to lay out all the evils associated with his choice, and to insist that should he proceed with this foolishness, he would be disinherited.

But time had taught Loki fortitude. “That would be a heavy misfortune indeed,” was his respectful but firm reply. “And not because of the money, but because you are my parents. I know things have not been easy between us these last years, sir, but you are the only father I have ever known, and despite everything, it would grieve me to lose you. But I have tried following the path you have laid out for me, and it has brought me nothing but heartache. It is time for me to do what I know will bring me happiness. I will be sorry indeed if you take that as a wedge driven between us, but still I am determined.”

Odin could only splutter angrily at this rejoinder, and Frigga, after a tense few moments, proposed that they all go to sleep, for perhaps this would be an easier conversation in the morning.

Thor crept into Loki’s room as he was dressing for bed, and on hearing a recital of the conversation, was distressed indeed. “No matter what occurs, you will always have me,” he promised, and Loki knew that he had been changed indeed by the last few months, for once he would have doubted the truth of his brother’s affections, but now he found great comfort in the statement.

He went to sleep happy.

And woke to great uproar in the house the next morning; Thor had gone on his usual early morning walk, and returned engaged. Worse, this engagement was not to any of the wealthy, titled ladies his parents had long been encouraging him to pursue, but to a professor of physics. 

Prudence dictated that Loki hide his smile on hearing the news, for he was already in disgrace with his parents. But when they had left the room, Loki congratulated and embraced his brother, stating that he thought very highly of the lady, and that he and Sif had already discussed what a fine thing it would be to have Jane as a sister.

“But,” said he, “your timing is interesting.”

“I hope you do not think I meant to detract from your own good news!” Thor said, aghast.

Once upon a time, Loki might have suspected such a thing. But now he could say with all honesty that such a thought had not crossed his mind. “But I do wonder whether you meant it as a way to divert some of our parents’ anger from me.”

Thor’s expression said all, and Loki felt a rush of affection for his brother. “After your encouragement yesterday, I had quite made up my mind to offer for the lady,” Thor said. “Besides, the truth would have partially come out when my affidavit appeared in court, where I confessed I was unaffected by the love potion because of an existing attachment. I was still debating how soon I would do it, however, and then our parents were so unreasonable about your engagement, and I thought . . . well, they cannot disinherit us both, can they?”

Loki privately suspected that they could. But in the end it was Thor who was correct. Frigga and Odin spent a day stewing, and having a number of heated discussions behind closed doors; later, Thor and Loki would be able to piece together that their discussions had resulted in the following conclusions: if both sons were disinherited, the title and the estate would pass to a hated cousin, which Odin could not abide by; it would reflect badly on the family to disinherit both sons on the same day; it would also reflect badly on the family to disinherit one son for an unsuitable marriage but not the other.

And so it was that Frigga and Odin reluctantly agreed to give both marriages their blessing. Still, tensions ran high in the house for some time after, and Thor and Loki privately agreed that after their weddings, they both intended to spend a good long while away from their parents.

. . . . . .

Who can be in doubt of what followed? When any young people take it into their heads to marry, they are pretty sure by perseverance to carry their point, be they ever so poor, or ever so imprudent, or ever so little likely to be necessary to each other's ultimate comfort. This may be bad morality to conclude with, but I believe it to be truth.

And if such parties succeed, how should a Captain Tyrsdottir and an Honorable Mr. Loki Odinson, with the advantage of maturity of mind, consciousness of right, and one independent fortune between them, fail of bearing down every opposition? They might in fact, have borne down a great deal more than they met with, for there was little to distress them beyond the want of graciousness and warmth from his parents. Every other friend and relation was supportive and kind, and on top of this all, they had the support of Thor and Jane; together, the Odinson brothers withstood every icy wind of disapproval originating from the vicinity of the earl.

Even Frigga warmed soon enough; she loved her sons too well to be unhappy with them for long. Frigga must learn to feel that she had been mistaken with regard to both Lorelei and Sif; that because Captain Tyrsdottir’s rank and birth had not suited her own ideas, she had been too quick in suspecting them to indicate a character of dangerous impetuosity; and that because Lady Lorelei had pleased her because of her high connexions, she had been too quick in believing her to have the most correct opinions and well-regulated mind. There was nothing less for Frigga to do, than to admit that she had been pretty completely wrong, and to take up a new set of opinions and of hopes. From there it was not hard for her to confess that even a professor of physics could also have admirable qualities, and in their future mother-in-law, Sif and Jane found a cautious but sincere ally. 

The Odinson brothers and their brides married in a double wedding less than a month later, as soon as the banns could be read, from a chapel at the University of Fólkvangr. Frigga would have liked them to be married from Gladsheim, but Loki had argued for Fólkvangr: the city had more meaning for Jane, and it allowed Sigyn and Theoric to attend, for Theoric would have struggled to make the journey to Ringsfjord. Holding the marriage and wedding breakfast in the city did allow Odin and Frigga to look important in front of their new Fólkvangr friends, so in the end, they did not argue much about the location.

Heimdall came for the wedding, as promised, bearing with him the news that the Duke of Nastrond had seized with great delight on the information that the sister of his rival had been arrested for administering a love potion, and was now doggedly determined to ensure she not escape punishment for her crimes. Eir returned with Heimdall, and there had grown up between the two of them such an ease and affection that Loki and Sif privately wondered whether Heimdall’s assertion that he saw nothing desirable in the marriage state was about to be challenged.

Tyr and Gná were present as well, having responded very graciously to Loki’s letter, assuring him that they held no hard feelings and would be pleased to give their blessing to the match. Odin seemed slightly uncomfortable to have his old neighbor there -- perhaps he was finally feeling shame over how he had ruined a friendship over a marriage that occurred anyway -- but Frigga, after a rocky start, renewed her friendship with Gná in a very sincere way.

The wedding was held on a crisp fall day; Kelda, attending with her new husband Haldor, worked a bit of weather magic to keep the air around the chapel from growing too cold. All the family from Thryheim were in attendance as well, even Volstagg and Hildegund’s children, who had insisted on being allowed to see the wedding of their beloved Loki, who had never realized just how much he had won them over with his magic tricks and illusions.

“You see?” Sif had murmured to him when the children tumbled excitedly into the townhouse on the night before the wedding, eager to tell Loki hello. “You are not as terrible with children as you think.”

(Loki privately wondered whether their parents regretted agreeing to bring them, when keeping them quiet during the ceremony took the combined efforts of Volstagg, Hildegund, Fandral and Bjørn.)

Jane was resplendent in a blue gown, and Sif caused quite a stir by marrying in her naval uniform, a mischievous impulse in which she was encouraged by her betrothed. Loki could not stop smiling when she stood beside him before the vicar; glancing over to see if his brother felt the same about his own bride, he was amused to see tears glistening in Thor’s eyes.

The wedding breakfast that followed was all that was fashionable and correct, with the happy company of cherished friends keeping it from tipping into an elegant lifelessness. Frigga shed a few happy tears throughout the event, and even Odin unbent enough to give a little speech, and wish his sons and daughters happiness.

. . . . . .

From there the couples left on their wedding journeys: Jane and Thor to Valhalla, so that Jane could visit the famed telescopes at the Royal Observatory, and Sif and Loki to Tønsberg, so that Sif could show her new husband the city as she had once wanted to: to walk arm-in-arm through the salt-kissed streets and to repose in each other’s arms as the sun set over the glimmering sea.

From there it was back to Fólkvangr for both couples. The living arrangements post-wedding had been the topic of much debate for some time. Odin had assumed that Thor and Jane would move into the townhouse on Bridge Street after the wedding, and then return with the family to Gladsheim when Heimdall’s lease was up, as was fitting for his heir. So he was quite shocked when Thor had announced, a few days before the wedding, that he and Jane had leased rooms near the university, and would stay there when his parents had returned to Gladsheim.

“Why should I force her to leave her work and her research, when there’s nothing that either of us is needed for in Ringsfjord?” he asked reasonably. “Besides, it would be a great disservice to scientific progress to pull her away. She’s revolutionizing our understanding of the cosmos.” He beamed proudly at his intended, and she flushed pink with pleasure.

This caused nearly as much chaos as the initial announcement of the engagements had done; Odin had clearly assumed that Jane would relinquish her professorship once she was married, and it was one thing for Viscountess Mjolnir to have once been employed, but another thing altogether for Viscountess Mjolnir to be employed still.

Thor was subjected to a lecture about appropriate behavior for a future earl, while Jane looked somewhere between defiant and chagrined at his side; and Loki, remembering how Thor had come to his rescue by using his engagement to Jane to redirect some of their parents’ ire, thought he ought to return the favor, which he did by taking advantage of a brief pause in Odin’s lecture to inform the room that he would be taking a position with the Royal Navy.

This did work to refocus Odin’s ire -- perhaps a little too well -- and the result was yet another full day when the earl considered disinheriting both of his sons, but ultimately decided the only thing to do was grin and bear it.

And so, when the two couples returned from their wedding journeys, they both went to rooms they had rented near the university: Jane to return to her work, and Loki and Sif to await their ship being readied.

For that was not simply a tale Loki told the earl for Thor’s sake. Sif had received word two weeks after their engagement that her leave was coming to an end, and that she would be given command of a ship that would be ready to sail in six weeks.

After hearing the news, Loki was struck with distress -- was he to be separated from his bride only a month after marrying? -- but it lasted only a moment, until Sif fixed him with an earnest gaze. “You will come with me, won’t you?” she asked. “As captain, I determine who is and isn’t allowed on my ship. Including my husband.”

Into Loki’s mind came the thought of how often he had dreamed of travelling the world, of seeing beyond the green shores of Asgard. He had never expected to do it as a naval captain’s husband, but he was more than happy to adjust his hopes and dreams a little. “I can think of nothing I would like more,” said he, and was rewarded with a kiss.

“I wonder, though,” he said when they had parted, “whether there might be a place for me there beyond standing adoringly at your side.”

Her brow furrowed.

“I remember,” he said haltingly, piecing together half-formed thoughts he’d had over the past weeks and months, “you speaking of a ship’s magician.”

Sif grinned. “Indeed. And I happen to know the position is not yet filled. Are you interested?”

“I have long thought that I should do something more useful with my magic than maintaining house wards and entertaining children.” He drew her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there. “And what better use could there be for my magic than keeping you safe?” He hesitated. “And keeping all your underlings safe as well, I suppose.”

“My underlings thank you,” she said drily. “And I would be very happy to have you as my magician.”

. . . . . .

And so it was that a month after the wedding, Sif and Loki set sail from Tønsberg in the _ HMS Warfrost. _ Loki gloried in being a sailor. He took very happily to life at sea; he loved the smell of the salt and the roll of the waves and the stunning sunsets and sunrises, and if there were aspects of life aboard a ship that were a little shocking to a man who’d been raised surrounded by luxuries, it was nothing that a little magic couldn’t fix.

He did see the world. And he kept the land he called his own and the woman he loved safe with his magic and his mind. And most importantly, he did it all with Sif by his side: Sif who was never more beautiful than when she was shouting orders to her sailors with a sword in her hand; Sif who had no qualms about kissing her ship’s magician in front of the entire crew, any time the opportunity arose. It was not an easy life on the _ Warfrost,_ nor always a safe one, but it was a life that let him walk hand-in-hand with his wife through the exotic port towns of Nidavellir and exchange smiles with her across a crowded deck and retire to their own cabin every night.

They did not spend all their life aboard a ship, though; they spent the next twenty years alternating between various ships -- Sif eventually reaching the rank of commodore -- and life in Fólkvangr, where they visited often with Jane and Thor and Sigyn and Theoric and Heimdall and Eir, and where Loki spent time at the university researching; in time, he and Theoric created the first reliable caster tracing spell, an accomplishment that amused them both (and made them glad to recall that Lorelei was locked away in prison in Valhalla for many years to come).

In time Sif was offered a promotion to admiral, but by this time she and Loki had taken in a small boy -- his parents sailors who had been killed in action -- and she was happy to trade in her ship for a hall at the University of Fólkvangr, becoming a lecturer in military history and strategy, while Loki accepted a professorship at the College of Magic.

By this time Thor had become the earl of Ringsfjord, and Sif and Loki often went to Gladsheim to visit him and Jane and Frigga; their Ullr loved to play with his cousins and to look through the telescope his Aunt Jane had built in the tallest tower of the house, so that she might continue her research.

While there, Loki and Sif frequently walked together down to the vicarage, to reminisce about days long past and about the various twists and turns their lives had taken to get them to this point.

“Sometimes it astounds me,” said Sif on one such visit, “to remember being a little girl here, and to think of everything that has occurred since then."

“What astounds me,” said her husband, “is that I was so fortunate as to have you agree to marry me twice. I am beyond fortunate that my stupidity did not ruin my chance at happiness forever.”

Sif’s brow furrowed. “I have been thinking of late,” said she, “and I wonder how different our lives would have been if you had not broken our engagement the first time -- if perhaps your parents, in a moment of weakness, had allowed us to wed, or if we had eloped. We would be married, then, but we would not have had those years apart, to grow in our love for each other and in our personal character. Perhaps in that case, you would not have had the requisite strength and determination to defy your father, and you would not have dared to join the Royal Navy. And perhaps I would have been too cowed to defy him as well, and would have given up my position there too. Perhaps we would have lived all our lives on this estate, under his thumb, our doings dictated by his edicts, and not have had the life we have shared: sailing together on the high seas, and working at the university now.”

Loki had never considered things in this light, and was much astonished. “Are you saying you are glad, then, that I broke our engagement the first time?”

“I am not certain I would go so far,” said Sif. “I suppose all I am saying is that the heartbreak we experienced back then is not something I would have chosen to endure, but now that I see what it has led to, I would not go back and change it, given the chance. Our lives have turned out better than I could have imagined, so though I could not see any use in them at the time, I do not regret those eight years of pain.”

“You are very philosophical this morning, my love.”

“I suppose twenty years of marriage has caused you to rub off on me, a little.”

“Well,” said her husband, stopping to pull her into his arms, “I think that I agree with you. If this is the end result of all our trials, I would not change one of them. I would not do anything to change the life we have together.”

“Indeed,” said his wife, and pulled him into a kiss.

. . . . . .

fin


End file.
